


You're Home

by Anon_Always



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2019-09-30 11:42:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon_Always/pseuds/Anon_Always
Summary: Maybe these white walls aren't your home, but neither is the swamp; not really. These girls...they're your tribe. They're your home.You're home.





	1. You're Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! I probably would have exploded if I didn't write my thoughts down, so I decided to finally try my hand at this. If it totally sucks, it never happened and we can all go about our business. This chapter is largely developmental because I feel that is the only appropriate response to such an emotional situation. Geared toward Misty (for now at least) because she's my spirit animal.

Hell isn’t hot like your father and the pastor told you it would be. It’s so _cold_. It makes you lose track of time; it makes you lose all feeling but pain; it makes you lose thought and expression; it makes you lose _yourself_. So when Nan takes your hand, you can’t believe it at first. It isn’t the cold, hard press of the scalpel you’d been forced to hold for the past days or years or decades, you don’t know at this point. No, the feel of her hand in yours is new and inviting and _impossible_ , but it's still chilled, and you think maybe you’ve just imagined the kind eyes looking back at you. And yet, she's tugging you up off of the stool that you’d been fastened to for oh so long and leading you from the unforgiving eyes of the demon-children.

“Come on, you’re going home now.”

“Home?”

“Home.”

And for only a second your mind drifts to the academy, the last place you knew. But then you realize that that’s not home, not really. The girls were nice enough and yes, you even miss Madison, but the vibes you got there just didn’t mesh with your soul like your swamp did. And still, Nan is leading you straight toward the academy. But when the doors open, it takes you a hesitated second to walk through because you get it. You understand that Nan was leading you to your heart’s home when you see her standing there, almost as though she didn’t know she was waiting for you.

“Misty.”

And the whisper of your name is broken, between a declaration and a question, and there are tears pooling in her eyes and somehow, it’s still the sweetest, most refreshing sound you’ve ever heard. “How can this be?” she asks before grabbing Nan with one arm and pulling you in with the other. You can’t help the excited, wordless stammer that falls from your mouth as you fall into the embrace. “How can this be possible?”

“Oh, Miss Cordelia,” you allow your eyes to fall shut and release an exhale into her neck because for the first time in forever your soul isn't so heavy, “I never thought I’d escape my personal hell.” You’re feeling so many emotions that you’re not totally sure what you’re saying when she pulls away, all you know is that Nan guided you _home._ Home to Cordelia. You don’t know how; Nan says something about being the voodoo demon’s boo, whatever that means, and the girl behind Cordelia has some kind of look. But then Nan leaves, even after Miss Cordelia asks her to stay, because she’s happy with Papa and she deserves nothing less than happiness.

In this whirlwind of hugs and hellos you’re still too overwhelmed to believe it’s real, even as Cordelia turns her attention to this girl—Mallory, Cordelia called her—who somehow seems to know your soul even though you’ve never seen her before. You like the vibes you’re getting from her though; she reminds you of yourself, so the greeting you give her matches the warmth spreading through you. “Hi,” you say as you reach for her hand, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

But then she’s gone, too, and all you see is all you’ve been wanting to see in the daydreams that just wouldn’t come in hell. Your eyebrows lift in a gesture that you can’t adequately voice, nearly a beckon, and you reach for Cordelia again, because _how is this real_. But you can smell the cocoa butter of her shampoo, and you hear her delighted chuckle so clearly and feel her pulling you in close: the tight wrap of her arms, her warm hand cradling your head, the tickle of her hair on your chin, the soft silk of her blouse, and the warm ghost of her breath on your shoulder. And it hits you like a freight train, filling your heart and grounding you like not even Stevie’s records can. This is real. Cordelia is _warm_ , and she’s _real_ , and she’s _home_. You’re home.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” and you know those words don’t even begin to reach the heights of your emotion, but at the moment it’s all you can manage. “I was ever so lost in the darkness.” You wrap your arms tighter because you can’t fathom parting from Cordelia now that you’ve got her back. You can hear that she’s still crying, her light sniffles and exhale in your ear ringing loudly within your soul.

She squeezes you back a bit tighter for a moment before mumbling through her tears, “I’ve missed you forever, my dearest Misty.” Even when she lets go, she doesn’t really let go. Her hands trail down your arms and she holds onto your hands with both of hers, and you’re grateful. But as you’re looking into her eyes and she reaches up to twirl a finger through a curl of your hair, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth before breaking out into a full grin, your smile begins to match her own as you realize that her eyes, her own, natural, oh so beautiful brown eyes, are looking back at you, and they’re so warm.

“Miss Cordelia, your eyes. They’re yours,” you manage to mumble through your shocked awe. You’d never seen her true eyes before, and though she is beautiful in any state, they are _breathtaking_ now. After a second in which she gives a small, quick grin of acknowledgement, it hits you. Perfect health. “You’re the Supreme,” you state with only a hint of questioning and an abundance of quiet, reverent awe. You knew she made an awesome leader.

“I am,” and she somehow looks so beautiful even as her eyebrows and her lips twist down in a sad snarl. “I’m so sorry, Misty.”

“What ever could you be sorry for?”

“For all of it,” her shoulders lift then fall because you know she doesn’t know how to explain any better than that, and even though an apology’s not necessary, you know what she’s saying. But before you can muster an adequate response you hear a gasp coming from the doorway, forcing you to break eye contact.

“Misty?” And God, you’d missed Queenie’s sarcasm and hidden compassion so much. “Hey, girl.” She says it with such gentleness and disbelief that it catches on your soul and catches you off guard for just a moment before you let go of Cordelia’s hands long enough to go hug your friend. “How are you here? How is this possible?” You hear her ask it, but you don’t even begin to know the answer, so you just squeeze her a bit tighter.

You hear the next voice before you see the owner. “Hey, what—oh my God.“ From over Queenie’s shoulder you look up to see Zoe standing, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide, so you let go of Queenie with one hand to beckon your first witchy friend over. She hesitates for barely a moment before quickly wrapping you in her arms and exhaling your name. And here in the embrace of your two unlikely sisters, under the eye of Cordelia, you’re so warm, almost overwhelmingly so. When the girls finally let you go, and you’re not sure you ever wanted them to, you take a few steps back, but not too far, toward the Supreme. You’re comforted to feel the warm hand on your lower back and Cordelia’s strong presence as she sidles up by your side.

There are quite a few beats of silence that follow, because the four of you—plus Mallory who had lingered at the top of the stairs but kept to herself to watch the reunion unfold—are at a total, blissful loss of words.

But your joy is momentarily interrupted when you realize there’s one familiar academy-witch face you’ve not seen. “Where’s Madison?”

A flash of sadness passes their faces before Queenie, ever the ray of sunshine, keeps the mood light. “That bitch literally buried you alive and you’re asking where she is?”

You throw your head back in a lighthearted chuckle at that and suppose you’ll ask again later, because right now, surrounded by these girls who you love and who love you in return, you’re just so relieved to be back. You glance over at Cordelia, because you just can’t seem to not, to see her also chuckling lightheartedly at Queenie’s rhetoric, a smile as wide as can be stretching across her immaculate face, tongue sticking out slightly from between impossibly pearly teeth, eyes crinkled at the corners and nose scrunching up in her adorable way. She turns then and she’s gazing back at you, truly happy, and you can feel your heart begin to pick itself up off the floor and put its pieces back together again. And you know it will be a long process, but that’s okay. Because you’re just so happy to be home, and for the first time in you don’t know how long, your heart is _warm._ Maybe these white walls aren’t your home, but neither is the swamp; not really. These girls—the ones warming your hands and sharing your smile—they’re your tribe. They’re your home.

_You’re home._


	2. She's Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fairly short, but it was necessary for me to end it where I did so I'll make up for it in the next chapter!

Moments later, after Zoe’s gone back to finish teaching her classes for the day and Queenie’s gone to plan for some kind of trip she's taking, Cordelia leads you to her office so you can speak without fear of someone overhearing, and to keep you from getting overwhelmed by the unfamiliar faces of countless new witches. Baby steps.

She ushers you in first, her hand briefly going to the small of your back again, and gingerly closes the door behind her, a beat of silence following as you’re both unsure where to start. There’s so much to say and even more to ask, but it all feels so far away, and you think maybe you’re both afraid of the answers.

She’s standing just in front of the closed door, eyes searching for your own as you come to a stop in the center of the office. “Misty…how is this possible?”

“I don’t know, Miss Cordelia.” You’re looking through her, rather than at her, because still none of this makes sense to you. “I was there, in my hell, and everything was the same horrible cycle of death over and over again until it just…wasn’t.” You finally let your eyes settle on her imploring ones, allowing your focus to match her own then, “I don’t understand it. But if Nan had had that kind of power the whole time, wouldn’t she have brought me back sooner?”

“I would assume so; she always did have a soft spot for you. I think you may have been the only one she didn’t abhor besides Queenie,” the older witch ponders with a chuckle and a contemplative brow. “Everyone did, really. Have a soft spot for you. We all missed you so much, my dearest Misty,” and her voice begins to crack with emotion, so before she can break again, she grabs you by both of the hands and leads you to the couch along the wall to sit, facing you, never once releasing her grip on your hands. “I don’t know how it is that losing you changed so much in me. I knew you for such a short time, and I’ve missed you forever.” Her voice is low, consumed with emotion, and you can see every bit of the sincerity in her expression.

You give a small, nearly sad quirk of your lips before answering. “I think that sometimes our souls just vibe so well with others because they were always meant to, even if we didn’t know it yet.” She hums in response, eyes roving over you, almost as though she’s making sure you’re truly sitting in front of her and taking in your visage before you can disappear again. “Miss Cordelia?”

Another hum. And she’s looking at you some type of way that you don’t quite know how to place, but it’s making you all tingly inside so you decide you don’t mind the nearly predatory nature of it.

“Nan. When she took my hand, she said she was bringing me home. But she brought me here. And like you said, I wasn’t here long. This academy wasn’t my home.”

And just like that, something breaks in her, head shaking lightly to clear the fog, brow furrowing, and throat clearing to rid it of the emotional buildup. You immediately miss that spark she’d held in her eye. “Oh, of course. I can take you to your swamp as soon as—”

“That’s not what I meant,” you squeeze her hands in yours—which she hadn’t loosened her hold on until now—for fear of her letting go. “The swamp’s been my house for years—and one that I really love, my sanctuary even—but it was lonely. It wasn’t a home. Your home is where your tribe is, and they weren’t there.” She’s looking at you, face softening again, and that’s all you need to say what comes next. “She brought me to you, Miss Cordelia.”

The beginnings of the sob that rip from her throat are somehow heart-wrenching and heart-mending all at once, and she pulls you into another hug, tight enough to hold all your pieces together, because no contact seems to be quenching her need to be near you. And this time, the adrenaline and shock worn down, you feel yourself breaking too. “I’m broken, Delia. I’ve lost my footing. I was in hell for so long, I don’t know where I am anymore.”

“That’s okay, Mist." You begin a protest at that—because it's not enough to just be _alive_ ; you need to be _here_ for her—but she anticipates it and shakes her head, cutting you off before you've even begun. "I’m here, and you’re here, and that’s enough. And I will be here, or wherever you are, until you’re back to the affectionate, powerful, full-of-love witch that you always were. Right now, you just need to heal.” You can feel her breath hitting your throat and her tears wetting your shoulder through her choked words, and you believe her. You remain there, unmoving, for who knows how long, because you’re _back,_ and she’s _here,_ and you’re _holding her,_ and you’re not about to let go again.

She does pull back though, eventually, hands moving instead to your biceps, because you guess you can’t remain wrapped up in one another forever. Dang it.

“I kept your things. Not here, but they’re at your shack. We can go get them tomorrow.”

You’re silent for what must be a moment too long, processing the fact that she’s kept your things up for all this time.

“Or perhaps that was rather presumptuous of me. I’m sorry. You don’t have to bring it back here, you can stay there if you would prefer—”

“Cordelia?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

The corners of her lips twinge up as she blinks slowly, affection pouring from her gaze. “Of course, love,” and she grazes your face between both of her impossibly gentle hands, thumbs ghosting over your lips and wiping your tears away as she pulls you in and presses her warm, gentle lips to your forehead, both sets of eyes fluttering shut. She pulls back just a fraction, lingering only a hair’s breadth away, beautiful brown eyes searching yours with a question you don’t know you hold the answer to and minty breath mingling with your own, before pulling you in once more and placing her soft, lingering kiss to your lips. Four seconds. Four seconds is all it takes, and just like that, the weight begins to fall. The pieces continue to pick themselves up. You know it’ll be a long road to reach your fully-mended free spirit, but that’s okay, because Cordelia’s right.

_She’s here._


	3. You're Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the delay and any mistakes in this. I don’t know what possessed me to write this in second person POV, but that’s how I started it so that’s how I’ve gotta finish it.

You’ve just barely had time to part from Cordelia when there’s a knock at the door and Queenie pops her head in. “Hey, girl! I figured you’d be starving after like a year with no food, so I went and grabbed us some Jumping Jacks and fries.”

It takes you a moment to process what she’s said, your eyes reluctant to leave the blonde witch sitting in front of you. “Um, yea, thank you. I’ll be right there.” You give her a quick smile before she leaves, presumably to the kitchen, door remaining cracked. Your gaze returns to Cordelia again, and hers locks with yours for a lingering moment before she clears her throat and stands, smoothing her slacks then reaching out a hand to you. You can’t help but stare dumbly at the offending appendage for a moment—and you can’t figure out why you find a hand of all things so lovely—mind still reeling and wondering if Cordelia _really_ just _kissed you_. You must’ve imagined it, but why do your lips still feel so warm and your stomach so tingly? She wriggles her fingers a bit as though to say _what are you waiting for,_ so you grab the hand, rings clinking against the two hugging her own fingers, and let her tug you to your feet. _You’re so weak and tired._ Standing so close now, her eyes wander your face and her hand squeezes your own. You take in the twinkle of her brown eyes and the slight upward tilt of her full lips and consider just asking her for a moment before she turns and heads for the door. Her hand never releases yours, though.

“Come on, I’m sure you’re famished.” As you cross the threshold of her office, though, her hand gives yours one more quick squeeze, thumb brushing the back of your hand, before she drops it. You stare blankly at your own hand for a moment as though it’s the one that’s offended you, and you can’t make much sense of the jumble in your brain, but you’re pretty certain you didn’t much want her to let go. _You didn’t want that. Why didn’t you want that? You didn’t want her to let go._

“Yea,” you respond, finally shaking yourself out of your fog and expanding your steps to walk beside the Supreme. “What’s a Jumping Jack, though? I don’t feel much like exercise.”

You hear the chuckle she lets loose, and _by golly you love that,_ before she taps your wrist as it swings by hers, pinky catching your own, and explains. “Oh no, it’s a burger from Queenie’s favorite fast food place.”

“Ah.”

Only Queenie is at the dining table when you get there, and you’re thankful for that. You’re excited to meet all the new girls, but not right now. _Too much too soon; you need peace._ You sit at the table where Queenie’s laid the burger and fries, straight across from her own, Cordelia gingerly falling into the chair next to you, and dig in. And god, since when did meat taste so good? “I know you’re healthy and all, Cordelia,” you see the voodoo witch give a sarcastic eye roll at that “so I wasn’t sure you’d want one.”

“No, you’re fine. Thank you, Queenie,” and you’re not looking, but you’re sure you can hear the joy in her voice. You feel Cordelia reach over to touch you again, her hand landing on your upper back and stroking your hair on its way to your elbow, grasping lightly before falling back to her side in one fluid motion. Eyes never leaving you, she releases a hearty chuckle that makes your insides turn to mush a bit.

“I’m starving. They don’t serve solid food in hell.” And you are, and fries have never been so fulfilling, but that’s not really what you’d meant to say. You’re not really sure what you meant to say. You’re saved from pondering on it though as you see Zoe walking toward you.

“Hey, guys,” Zoe gives you a heartwarming smile as she sits next to Queenie.

“Hi, Zoe” Cordelia greets with a smile, “How was your class? Do the girls seem to be doing okay?” You think this is the first Cordelia’s attention has moved from you since your return, so you take the opportunity to finish the oddly wonderful and oh-so-cheesy burger in front of you.

“It was good, they all seem to be learning fairly quickly. There are a few who may need some extra help with learning the spells, but we’ll get them there.”

“Great. You’ll be getting another student soon. She just arrived shortly before Misty got here,” she looks over at you again at this, pausing to smile fondly, “her name is Mallory. Something tells me she’ll do quite well.”

“Speaking of the new girl,” Queenie’s voice gains a new excitement, so you look up at her as she speaks. “I am _so_ excited to actually _be_ at _The Price is Right_. I haven’t done this much studying since The Seven Wonders. Also, I need to find a super nice hotel in Venice that has an even better price and a beautiful beach view, since Mallory told me I shouldn’t stay downtown.” She pauses with an inquisitive look before adding as an afterthought, “That was weird by the way.”

“ _The Price is Right_?” You’re intrigued by your friend’s excitement and want to be excited for her, but you haven’t got a clue what that means.

“It’s only the best gameshow in existence. Drew Carey?” The look you’re giving her must match the confusion you’re feeling, because you’re sure she just clicked her tongue at you. “Girl, now that you’re not, like, chronically dying and we’re not fighting over the Supremacy, I can teach you all about the things you’ve been missing out on.” Your expression changes to a toothy smile at that, because _by god you really had missed your friends_.

“You know,” Zoe chimes in after a comfortably silent moment, voice soft as ever, “I may have fought for it, but I really thought that you were going to be the next Supreme. Or maybe it was wishful thinking, especially since none of us had the mind to really see Cordelia back then.” Her gaze shifts to the Supreme in an apologetic expression then, but Cordelia keeps her gaze focused on you instead.

“Misty did.” At the puzzled looks she gets from the other two, she goes on. “She saw what I didn’t even see in myself. But I didn’t believe her.” You can see the raw emotion resurfacing behind her eyes and can basically hear her blaming herself.

“I told you it wasn’t your fault. Stop being sorry.” And it wasn’t. You know that she couldn’t have known you’d get stuck in hell. _She couldn’t have known it was her all along._ So you hope beyond hope that she can see the sincerity in your gaze. You remember the other two witches watching you then and look to them, clearing your throat of emotion. “I never really wanted it anyway. I couldn’t have done it justice,” and at this point you’ve pretty well given up the idea of _not_ glancing at Cordelia every chance you get.

“I’d never realized that the two of you were so close,” Queenie observes with a thoughtful tone, “not until it was too late, anyway. I guess I was too focused on myself to see it before.” You wonder briefly what exactly she means by that—' _too late_.’ “Anyway, I’m gonna go plan for my trip, so I’ll catch you girls later.” She gets up and goes to leave, before stopping in the doorway and turning back quickly. Before you know what’s happening, her arms are wrapping around your neck from behind and she’s whispering by your ear, lighthearted emotion evident, “I really missed you.” You reach up to squeeze the arms around your neck and tuck your head into her short hair, smile unwavering, and _why do words keep escaping you_ , before pulling back and watching her leave.

“I’d better get going, too. I’ve got to get Kyle to a doctor’s appointment. He’s not been feeling too well.” _Kyle_. How could you have forgotten about Kyle?

“Okay, be careful. Let him know we hope everything’s alright,” and you’ve always admired Cordelia’s motherly bond with the girls, but it only seems to have gotten stronger since you’ve been gone. “Oh, and when you’re able, would you mind helping Mallory get settled in? I would, but…”

“Of course I will,” Zoe cuts in after a moment of hesitation, saving Cordelia from putting to words what she’s feeling. Zoe gives you each another soft smile before pushing her chair in and leaving the same way Queenie had, leaving you and Cordelia alone once more.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Her hand’s found yours again, resting intertwined on the arm of your chair. “Or too much? I don’t want you to be overwhelmed with too much too quickly.” You’re overcome with affection for the blonde’s concern, as seems to be the permanent case, so you reach your other hand up to rest against the back of hers, cradling it between both of your own.

“I’m okay, I promise.” You feel your lips quirking up before you can stop them. “Can I get some water though? I’m parched. I reckon all of the screaming in hell left my throat pretty sore.”

You only meant it as an observation, but you regret it nearly immediately as you see the light leave her eyes and her smile turn to one of sorrow. “Of course, love.” _Love._ You love that. She goes to stand up, hand reluctantly pulling from your grip only because it must, and you follow her to the kitchen and watch as she reaches into the high cabinet for a glass.

Maybe it’s because you were distracted before hell, but _damn_ you swear you don’t remember her being _so gorgeous_. She was beautiful even then of course, but _holy_ _wow_. She turns back, glass in hand, head toward the ground and smile shy, “thank you, Mist.” Wait. _Had you said that out loud?_ The blush on her cheeks indicates that yes, you did just audibly express that you quite fancy your Supreme. _Shit. Fuck._ But as she much more confidently meets your eye, you decide that you don’t much mind. “You’re not so bad yourself.” An easy smile returns to your face and you say the next part intentionally audibly to hopefully make yourself seem less of a nincompoop.

“The confidence is new, too, maybe that’s it. It’s nice.” _Nice? You’re bad at this._

“I suppose being the Supreme does that to a person,” she chuckles as she fills the glass with water and hands it to you. Your hand brushes hers in a way that’s not much necessary but is definitely welcome, and you’re quite thankful that you already have water because your throat has never been so dry. You lock gazes again, and really you’re starting to wonder if that’s just going to be a permanent state, and you can see her opening her mouth to say something more before sounds of laughter break the tension. Two girls, probably in their late teens, enter the kitchen, so Cordelia greets them with a polite smile and nod, “girls.”

“Good evening, Miss Goode,” one of them states before grabbing two apples from the bowl resting on the center of the counter, tossing one to her friend, and going back out the way she’d come. You’ve never been so thankful to be so easily overlooked before.

You wait until you know they’re gone to ask, “Miss Goode?” That wasn’t her name before.

“Yes. I got it changed back to Goode shortly after everything settled down. I figured it was better to be tied to my mother than to be tied to Hank.” You make a sound of acknowledgment, because all of the questions swirling in your head are making it rather hard to think, but you suppose you’ll get them all eventually. Baby steps. Right now, you’re just oddly relieved at the name change. _Cordelia Goode. Why does that make you so giddy? You like that much better; it suits her._ “Would you like to go up and take a shower? Maybe sleep for a while? I can’t imagine you’re not exhausted after everything.”

“Yes to the shower,” perhaps you can wash the remnants of hell from your senses. “But no to sleeping. I don’t really wanna close my eyes just yet.” And you don’t. You’re terrified of what you may see. You’re terrified of not waking up; of waking up in hell; of none of this being real. But also, you don’t want to look away from Cordelia. A small part of you knows it’s irrational; she’ll still be here when you wake up. You know she will be. But you can’t shake the part of you that’s afraid she _won’t_. And she must know that, because she’s looking at you with more sympathy than anyone’s ever cared to give you.

“I understand,” she places her hand on yours, which had been resting on the counter between you, and rubs her thumb over the back of it before grasping it in her own. “Come on, I’ve got some clothes you can borrow. You can use my bathroom so you don’t have to worry about running into the other girls just yet.”

“Thank you, Delia.” And you mean that fully, because you’re not even almost ready to face all the new people. But also, _Delia? Is that too informal? But it feels so nice to say_. So you just follow Cordelia through the house, never once releasing your grip on her hand.

Just as you reach the stairs and go to climb them, Queenie comes barreling down before grabbing the suitcase awaiting her at the bottom. “Cordelia! I actually got a super sweet deal on a hotel that Mallory suggested, with that beach-front view of course, so I’m gonna go ahead and head out to get there early. I’ll text you updates the whole way and facetime from the balcony when I get there!” You don’t think you’d ever seen Queenie so excited before; you can’t help but feel her contagious happiness. You don’t suppose you’d been around in a time that could’ve seen any of the girls at their most happy.

“Oh! Okay, well have fun and stay safe,” you can’t tell if the older witch is more startled or excited for Queenie as she says it. Queenie’s eyes glance down at your hand joined in Cordelia’s for a moment before she gives you a slight grin that you can’t quite interpret and then reaches to pull Cordelia in for a gentle hug, inadvertently causing her to drop your hand, and then turning back to grab her suitcase.

“Will do. Oh, Misty,” she turns back to you rather abruptly, “you’re welcome to crash in my room while I’m gone if you need. Or not, your choice” She stops her rushing long enough to give you a gentle smile. “It’s good to have you back,” she says as she pulls you into yet another embrace, the third in such a short span but neither of you comment on that bit, and speaks the next words into your ear, “now stop dying, bitch. Cordelia can only mourn you so many times.” All you can manage is a soft chuckle and a nod; you suppose that so long in hell’s made you forget how to people. You love Queenie to bits and you want so much to tell her so, but it’s all so overwhelming. In an instant, Queenie’s grabbed her suitcase and headed out the door, leaving silence in her wake.

“Well, I guess that solves the problem of where you’ll be sleeping for a few nights. At least until we figure something more permanent out.” You can see her mind working as she says it, you suppose trying to figure out what to do with you. “Queenie’s room is bigger now, but she does still share a bathroom with the others. You’ve been able to avoid the new witches thus far, so you’re still welcome to use the shower in my bathroom if you’d like.” You give her a slight nod at that, mind still reeling. You don’t remember life being quite so fast-paced. You suppose it had been slower at the swamp, with just you and the critters and your Stevie. Cordelia will understand that, though. _She won’t push you_. So you give a more certain nod, accompanied by a smile this time, and grab her hand in yours once more before letting her lead you to her room.

It’s not the same room it had been last time. It’s bigger; you think this one was Fiona’s before. Everything in it is white, only small bits of color here and there. Not really your style, but it’s definitely the Supreme’s. _Pristine_. She closes the door behind you and crosses to her closet, leaving you to meander about. A rather large bookshelf rests along the adjacent wall, and you run your finger over the spines of countless books in your curiosity. _Potions, Salem, Harry Potter,_ _Jane Eyre. So many books_. There’s a fireplace opposite the bed, and you move to inspect the mantle’s few furnishings. In the center of it rests a picture that seems so familiar yet so foreign. It’s of the two of you in the greenhouse. You don’t remember it being taken but you can see the memory so clearly. She was teaching you spells and potions to help the plants prosper, and you were teaching her the magic of Louisiana mud. It was the first time you really realized your natural connection with the older witch, one you can’t even put to words. The memory paired with the picture bring a smile to your face and an inexplicable warmth to your heart. Beside the photo is some sort of intricately designed, forest green vase. You don’t know what it is, but you feel unexplainably drawn to it, so you reach your hand up to trace the flowery designs with your index finger. “I’ve not got anything that’s really your style, but I do have some comfortable pants you can wear until we get your stuff,” she’s not looking up at you as she reenters from the closet, but when she does look up from the clothes in her hands, she immediately notices what’s caught your attention. She sets the clothes she’s holding down onto the bed before walking to you, standing just behind you and placing her hand on your lower back.

“How’d you get this? I don’t remember it being taken.”

“Myrtle. She gave it to me shortly after the Seven Wonders.” She sounds almost sad as she explains it, but the chuckle she lets out contradicts that. “She said it was the happiest she’d seen me in years, so she had to capture it.” She reaches around you for the photo and pulls it down so you can examine it more closely. It features the two of you bent over a healthy, flowery plant, all toothy smiles, her hand grasping your own in a show of joyous victory as you celebrate a successful incantation over the plant.

“I didn’t know she was there.”

“Neither did I.” You can still feel the hand on your back, so you lean into it a bit, the back of your right shoulder resting against the front of her left. “It was, you know.” You look up from the photo to her face at that, only to see her still examining it, hair falling around the opposite side of her face. “The happiest I’d been,” her gaze meets yours then, and a small grin graces her lips. You release a hum of response at that and watch as her gaze drops to your lips quickly before lifting again, remaining locked with your own for a moment before turning her attention to the vase you’d been examining. “When you didn’t come back, your body disappeared after you. It just…turned to dust,” you can hear the leftover sadness in her voice, and you hate that she had to feel it for so long. “This is all that was left of you. The ashes.” And it’s surreal to know that that’s _you_ resting on her mantle. She places the picture back in its place, paired with the vase. “I don’t suppose I’ll be needing it anymore though,” and her smile begins to widen again.

“No. I don’t suppose you will.” You’re honestly having trouble sifting through your emotions, but you know that you feel so much warmth for this woman beside you, giddy grin matching her own.

“Hm.” _Honestly, you’ve always been able to read people and feel them completely within yourself, so why are you having so much trouble now? Have you lost your intuition in hell, or is she just unreadable?_ “I also have one of your shawls,” she says much more lightheartedly, moving her gaze back to yours, “the blue one. I’m not prepared to give it back just yet though so I’m not telling you where it is.” You both release a laugh at this, mood thankfully lifted. She breaks from you then before walking to the bed and picking the clothes back up, “here. The pants are joggers. I wear them for lounging, so I promise they’re comfortable.” She hands them to you before leading you to the bathroom and grabbing some towels from the cabinet. “Feel free to use anything in the shower, and if you need anything at all you can yell for me. I’ll just be looking over some paperwork in my room.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She walks back into her room, leaving you to look at the opened door for a moment. You hesitantly reach to close it, but just before it latches you swing it back open. _What if it doesn’t open? What if this is still hell and this is all just a sick test? What if it traps you in? You can’t be trapped again._   _You can't be alone again. You can't take any more death._ _You can’t-_ “Woah. Hey. Hey, hey. Look at me, Misty.” You feel her hands on either side of your face, directing your wide eyes from the holes you’d been drilling into the door. “Breathe. It’s okay. Breathe.” You hadn’t even realized you’d been hyperventilating. “You’re with me. You’re okay. Okay?”

You see her. You feel her. You hear her. _She's here_. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to close the door all the way, okay? Or any of the way if you don’t want to. It’s okay. Look,” she lets go of you to grab the door and slowly push it closed, leaving just a few inches cracked. “I’ll leave it like this, and I’ll be just on the other side, okay?”

“Okay.” Of course. That was irrational. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I understand; you’ve been through too much.” She brings her hand back up to your cheek, sad smile gracing her features, before pulling away and pulling the door back opened, walking through, and pulling it shut again—just a few inches left open. “Okay?” You can’t see her, but she’s still there.

“Okay.” And it is. It’s okay. You’re okay.

_You’re okay._


	4. Baby Steps

You’ve always adored water—it’s nature’s greatest gift—but you don’t remember it feeling _this_ wonderful. You don’t remember its ability to so clearly wash away even the dirt of the soul; the hurt of the day. _How long were you gone? How much did you miss? How many times did you have to kill that poor frog that you can never save?_ Hands braced against the shower wall, the water mingles with the tears flowing freely down your face. _How many more times do you have to die, god dammit? How much more suffering must you take?_ You can feel your body wracking with the intensity of your sorrow, so you bring a hand up to cover the sobs so as not to alert the woman on the other side of the open door. _You can’t. You can’t take anymore_. Both of your hands move of their own accord to tangle into your own hair, pulling and holding it back as the fresh water pelts onto your undeserving skin and overtakes the tears pouring from your soul. _No. You have to live now. Truly live. Cordelia. Cordelia makes you live. You can’t lose her again. She can’t lose you again._ The water—it washes those thoughts away even if only for a moment, and you lose track of time, mind reeling with everything and nothing at all, before the water starts to lose its temperature. You reach to turn down the cold-water knob, hoping to catch the last drops of hot water, but instead find that the knob won’t twist any further. Because you’d never turned it on. You scurry to turn off the hot-water knob before looking down at yourself—skin an unnaturally angry reddish swell. _Hell. What’s wrong with you?_

You reach out to grab the towel Cordelia had left on the counter to dry yourself. Your skin is sensitive, but that’s fine. Towel wrapped around you, you move to stand in front of the full-length mirror along the opposite wall. You look the same as you always had—with the exception of the redness that’s just starting to fade from your skin and your eyes slowly gaining their color back. Your hair still holds its blonde curls. Eyes still reflect the crystal sea. You look like the same Misty that had exuberantly swept through these halls before. _So why don’t you feel like her?_ You have Cordelia and the girls, and you _know_ that you’re home and you _know_ that you’re fine and you’re _safe_. _So what’s the matter with you? Why are you still not whole? Why do you still feel so broken?_

“Misty?” Her voice accompanied by a gentle rap on the cracked door startle you out of your musings. “Are you okay?” You want to tell her you’re fine, not to worry, but you can’t bring your voice to cooperate. “Can I come in; are you decent?” _Decent enough_. You make a low noise in the back of your throat to signal approval. You don’t hear the door push open or her steps on the floor, but your eyes find hers through the mirror’s reflection when she moves to step behind you. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, but she must be able to read more in your eyes than you can make out in your own head because she places her hand on your waist to turn you towards her, head tilting and face twisting in either question or empathy, you’re not sure. _Both probably._ “Misty. Your skin is screaming as loud as your eyes are. What happened, love?”

“Nothing. Just the water.” Her hand that doesn’t have a grip on your hip runs up your arm as though inspecting it’s intact.

“Did you have the hot water turned all the way up?” You give a hum at that. “Misty, our water heater is turned up _very_ high.” Another hum. You’re looking past her rather than at her, but the sound that escapes her throat breaks your heart. “ _God_ , Misty. Come here,” she pulls you forward with the hands holding you, guiding your head to her shoulder though she’s smaller than you, and letting the other hand make its way to your upper back, gripping the towel wrapped around you in a loose fist. “You can’t do that. You can’t hurt yourself like that.” Yet another hum at that, which causes her to pull back just enough to look you in the eye. “Misty.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Her head gives a slight, sad nob before her forehead connects to your own, nose bumping against yours and breath mingling between your slightly parted lips. Your tears run together, and you’re not sure whose exactly it is that are salting the tip of your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine. It’s okay.” She holds you for a moment more, you suspect as a comfort to herself just as much as a comfort to you, before pulling her head back just enough to look you in the eye. “Just, please, get me next time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You feel suddenly cold again when she pulls away, body missing the warmth she provided. “Here,” she picks up the clothes that had been resting on the counter to hand them to you, “put these on,” and steps back into the bedroom to give you privacy, sniffling lightly and attempting to discretely wipe the tears that had stained her oh-so beautiful face. _That’s your fault. You caused her pain. You’ve got to do better, dammit._ Once you’ve put them on, a plain white t-shirt with the black pants and the black underwear that happen to fit you just fine, you walk out to join her, dabbing at your wet hair lightly with a towel.

You don’t expect the chuckle that greets you. “You’re too tall. Those are more like capris on you.” You look down and wiggle your toes a bit, because you suppose you are a good couple of inches taller than her when she’s not wearing her heels.

“Neh. This is good,” you walk closer to her then, sitting to rest on the edge of her bed beside her, “short stuff.” Her laugh is hearty at that, and you can’t stop the laugh that escapes your own lungs as she balls up her fist and lightly punches you on the shoulder.

“Shut up,” and by golly you really do think her smile could melt you down completely, so you jab a finger into her side in retaliation. The delighted, tickled squeal she lets out is something you definitely never would’ve imagined coming from a Supreme. _This is the Cordelia you remember. The cute, lighthearted one from the greenhouse. She’s struggled too. She’s changed too. She’s had to._ Her hand grabs yours in one quick motion to stop any further attacks, and god help you you don’t know why but you reach to grab her other hand in your free one. She’s still chuckling lightly when she looks up from your interlocked hands to meet your eyes once more. _They’re so bright. They’re every happiness you ever needed._ You try not to—you really do—but you can’t seem to stop your eyes from drifting down to her full lips. You see them beginning to form words when a knock at the door interrupts.

“Cordelia?” You can tell that it’s Zoe straight away. Cordelia stands, but she doesn’t move far, standing just before you and resting her hand lightly on your shoulder, facing the door.

“Yes, Zoe?”

The younger witch opens the door far enough to lean inside, hand on the doorknob. “I got Mallory into a room, and she’s getting settled in. There was space for her in one of the double-rooms here, with Becca, but Becca just asked to be moved to the other house, so I told her we’d discuss it with you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thank you for letting me know, Zoe,” she gives an appreciative smile and her hand seems to unconsciously squeeze your shoulder before dropping to grasp her other one in front of her. “Becca’s made friends with some of the girls who room in the house next door; I presume that’s why she wants moved?”

“I think so.” Zoe moves fully into the room then before gently pulling the door closed behind her. “I’m honestly just glad she’s finally making friends. She was having some trouble connecting.”

“I remember. I don’t see any problem with moving her then, if you think it would be good for her.”

“I agree. We can talk to her about it and figure out a room tomorrow.” The young witch looks down at you then, smiling gently. “How are you holding up, Misty?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you give a slight grin at an attempt of reassurance. “Well, getting there at least.” Cordelia gives you a light smile, hand reaching to twirl a piece of your damp hair that had fallen over your shoulder, before looking back to Zoe as the younger witch speaks again.

“I’m glad to hear that. Queenie will be too, she’s only been gone two hours and is already texting me asking about you.” She releases a small chuckle and gives you a reassuring grin before stepping back. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Let me know if you need anything else; both of you.” You both release affirmative expressions as Zoe reaches the door, pulling it open. She looks back at you though, giving you a smile that seems to know something you’re not sure of, before leaving and closing the door back behind her. _Why do people keep giving you these looks? What do they mean? Wait, other house?_

“Did you say there’s a house next door? I don’t remember that.”

“Yes. We had to make arrangements when so many witches started flooding in, after we went public.” She grabs the towel in your hand that you’d only been lightly dabbing your hair with and reaches for a dripping strand to gently rub dry. “I’ll tell you more about going public later.” _This is so much to take in. The world moved so fast while you were gone_. “So, a month or so after the Seven Wonders, we bought the house next door to renovate into a dorm for the girls. Do you remember the boy who lived there before? With his mom?”

“I think so. Nan was seein’ the boy, right?”

“Right. Well, after he passed, his mother disappeared, leaving the house empty. It was close and big enough to house plenty of girls, so that’s where most of them stay. It’s mostly just the council and I here, with a few stragglers here and there. Mostly girls who are just getting integrated in with the others and getting used to the place. We teach classes here in this building too.”

“And the council? Is that Zoe and Queenie?”

“It is. They were my right hands, and the only ones left of our original sisters. They’ve been absolutely wonderful. And, well,” she moves to sit back by your side, dropping the towel into her lap and moving to hold your hand in hers, “you’re back now. You’re one of us, and you’re very powerful, Misty, and smarter than you realize.” She must see your head beginning to shake before you’ve started because she nods hers in protest, “you are. And you’ve got a soul that’s more beautiful than I could ever describe. You feel things like no one I’ve ever met.” Her eyes meet yours for a thoughtful moment. “We could use someone like you. The council.”

“Miss Cordelia, I don’t—”  

“Not right now, and you don’t even have to think about it right now. I know that you’ve got a lot of healing to do before even considering such responsibility, and that’s okay,” you give her a nod at that. You reckon she can read you pretty well by now. “But we will revisit it later. I know the girls would agree.”

“Okay. We’ll revisit it,” you mostly say it because you know it’s what she wants to hear—what she needs to hear. But that’s okay, you’ll bite. “By then maybe you’ll be sick of my Stevie and my mud,” you crack a sideways smile to her in an attempt to pick the mood back up.

The resulting humored scoff is exactly the reaction you were fishing for. “Ha, ha. Never.” Her smile is one that reaches her eyes and lights them up yet is still somehow shy as her eyes never waver from your own. She tucks a strand of perfectly-placed hair behind her ear, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth— _you don’t remember that habit, but boy oh boy do you fancy it—_ before bringing her hand up to trace down the length of your jawline, coming to rest on your collarbone, thumb and forefinger encircling your neck. If she were to apply pressure, she could choke you right now, and it strikes you that there is no other person on earth who you’d trust to hold you in a near-choke-hold position. But still you fancy it. “I’m just so glad you’re back, Mist.”

You bring your own hand up to rest atop hers. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

_“_ Not even your swamp?”

“Not even. My tribe’s right here.” You’ve decided to make it your personal mission to see that shy smile as often as possible. She has a lot of skills, but taking compliments isn’t one of them. _She’s not appreciated enough to know how. You’ll change that. She deserves your whole world._

“I’ve managed to keep the greenhouse up, even through everything,” _thank the heavens_ , “if you want to go check it out before bed. Maybe it will calm your soul enough for you to get some sleep.”

“Yes, absolutely! I’d love to. I’ve got a hankering for some nature.”

“Alright then,” the smile lights up her eyes as she stands, hand trailing down your arm until it grabs your hand to tug lightly, “let’s go.”

The greenhouse is just as you’d remembered it. It looks almost as though no time had passed at all, and still you marvel at the sight. You twirl a few times—slowly though, not like Stevie twirling—to take it all in. But it doesn’t _feel_ right. You stop, coming to face Cordelia, who’d been watching you with hands folded in front of her and smile on her face. “It’s not right,” you move to touch a dying leaf, eyes beginning to mist over, “I can’t feel them.” You can’t feel its life seeping into you and your life seeping into it. You can feel its death, so dark and cold, but you can’t feel a bit of life. You try and you try to _just give it life,_ but the leaf won’t receive. “Why can’t I feel them?” You can feel as you begin to lose yourself, but you can’t begin to stop it, tears becoming too heavy and spilling down your cheeks. “Why isn’t it working?” _Where’s the life?_

You didn’t hear her coming, but you feel Cordelia’s hand covering your own, causing you to release the vice-like grip you didn’t realize you’d put the leaf under, and watching with wide, tearful eyes as it falls to the floor, broken, lifeless. “It’s okay, Misty,” you begin a protest, head shaking and eyes glued to the death on the floor, but she continues over top of your stammer. “It’s okay. It’s just taking your powers a bit longer to catch up.” Her hands move to your shoulders, nudging you so that you turn fully towards her. “It’s okay, you’ve been gone for over a year. You’ll get it back.” She moves her thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks, head dipping to catch your eye and nodding reassuringly. “Okay?” _But it’s not. It’s not okay. You’re not okay._ “It’s okay. You’re okay. It’ll just take time.”

“What if I can’t? I can feel their death.” You move your hands up to rest in the crooks of her elbows in order to ground yourself as her hands continue clearing the pained tracks from your cheeks. “I can feel every bit of hurt radiatin’ from them. But I can’t feel their _life_.” Your glance around, then, causing Cordelia’s hands to fall to your shoulders. _They’re alive. So why can’t you feel them?_ “You’ve taken care of them, I know it. But I can’t feel their _life_ , Cordelia. I can’t smell the sweet scent of living souls on them. Why can I only smell rot?” Your head whips back around to catch her eye once more, panic setting in.

“Perhaps it’s just because you’ve been gone so long? Maybe you just have to get used to life again.” She doesn’t know either. But maybe she’s right.

“Maybe. And you’d know better than me, Miss Cordelia.” Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’ll just take a minute. “Maybe my mind is still too stuck.”

“Maybe. And I’ll be here every step of the way out of it. We’ll make you okay, I promise.”

“Promise,” you repeat it as a whisper—a promise to her in return—to yourself. “I want to tell you about it. About hell,” you see her eyes light up a bit at that, “I just can’t. Not right now. But I will.”

“I know, Mist. I understand. Baby steps.” _Baby steps. You can do those. 10 seconds at a time._ You move your hands along her arms from where they’d rested in the crooks of her elbows, making a grab for the hands resting on your shoulders, when your touch finds the metallic cold of the bands wrapping two of her fingers.

“Frogs?” You examine the rings more closely, holding the hand near your face and furrowing your brow. _Frogs don’t seem very Supremely._

She releases a chuckle and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. _You adore that._ “Frogs.” She states matter-of-factly, as though that offers any bit of explanation, so you give her a questioning look, brows raising toward your hairline. “I saw them at a small market the girls and I walked through, and I loved them.”

“Ah.” You still don’t think they seem very Cordelia-y, but perhaps you’d misjudged.

“They reminded me of you.” You were not expecting that, and she must read that on your face as your wide eyes find hers. “You love life. You love wildlife, and you love your swamp. Do you remember that time in here, after Hank left?”

“Of course I do.” You run your forefinger over her ringed ones. “It’s my favorite memory.”

Her rather adorable, assured smile makes your tummy flutter relentlessly. “You told me then about your creatures. The alligators, and the birds. All of them.” Her forefinger catches yours on its next pass over the rings, curling them together. “You also told me a story about how you’d found some tadpoles without a mother, so you raised them into frogs. Do you remember that?”

Your smile lights up your face, because _you can’t believe she remembered that_. “Yea. No one’s ever cared to remember those stories before.”

“I remember everything I ever learned about you. Which, granted, isn’t much.” She gives a shrug of her shoulders. “But the rings reminded me of you. Reminded me of that time. And I wanted to keep that memory with me.” You were never speechless often in life, but you’re speechless. So instead of responding, you reach for her other hand with the one not currently dancing with her ringed fingers, tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips. “It may sound silly, but they helped me through some hard times,” her eyes latch onto your locked hands and a half-humored huff escapes her lips. “Well, not the rings. But the memory.” _It wasn’t about the rings. It was about the reminder. It was about you._

“Two of them?” You don’t know what you’ve just done, but her cheeks gain a pink tint and her head bows at that. This is the first you’ve seen her truly blush since you got back, but you don’t imagine she’s one to get embarrassed much easily anymore. You almost recant your question, but now you’ve gotta know why she got two of the same ring.

“Yes, well,” she clears her throat in an effort to gain courage, so you reach a hand up to gently pick her chin up with your forefinger, bringing her eyes back to yours and giving a reassuring grin. “There’s one of you.” _That doesn’t make any sense_. Her head bows again to glance at the rings, and you let it this time. “And there’s one of me.” _Hot damn_. _Your whole dadgum heart_.

No words you could possibly muster would give justice to the thoughts and feelings now swirling through your head. So, instead, you hold her left hand in both of yours and let your finger trace over the metallic frogs once more, before gently sliding the single ring adorning her ring finger off and into your palm. You can hear her beginning to form a protest, so you lightly tap your finger against her lips to stop it from escaping. You look to your own hand then, and a thin silver band glints in the low light of the greenhouse as you slowly slide it from your own left pinky and then slide Cordelia’s frog into its place. _It fits you._ Grabbing hold of her left hand once more, you slide your own silver band into the vacant spot, fitting snugly to her ring finger where the frog once was. Grinning wholeheartedly to yourself, you bring her hand up with both of yours to place a tender kiss over the knuckles.

“There. Now you have a reminder that was a part of me, and I have one of you.” Your gaze lifts from the glinting, swapped rings to find her face, only to find that her eyes are swimming with unshed tears, brows dipping in emotion. A single blink causes them to spill over onto her cheeks, spurring you to reach up with your thumbs to wipe them away.

“Oh, Mist,” her words come out in a hiccup as a sob breaks through her throat, arms pulling you in and wrapping around your neck as her face finds refuge in the hair resting there. It takes only a moment for your own arms to encompass her waist, squeezing tightly and balling her blouse into your fists. “Oh, how I missed you,” and you may not have been able to feel the life in those plants, but you can feel every bit of sincerity and _love_ behind those words whispered into your ear and ghosted across your neck, and that’s enough. It’s all you need right now. _She’s all you need_.

“I’m here now,” and you know you’re saying it to remind Cordelia that you’re not going anywhere—not again—but you also know that a part of you is desperate to remind yourself, too. “I’m here.” _You’re here._

She pulls back a bit, hands coming to encompass either side of your neck and your own finding their rest on her waist. “You’re here.” The mist in her eye twinkles and her lips quirk up as her thumbs draw circles on your jawline. “You’re here.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” you allow your hands to squeeze her waist as an assurance, thumbs digging into her fabric-covered flesh. Her ringed hand moves up a bit, resting on your jaw and circling her thumb over your cheek, but you can _see_ the sadness in her eyes still and you know that for a moment, the roles have to switch. _She needs me now. She needs comfort too._ So you lean forward slowly to press your lips in a gentle kiss to her forehead, allowing them to rest there for a moment before pulling down to rest your own forehead against hers, eyes closed in emotional exhaustion and heart heavy. But you can feel yourself tilting your head down and leaning ever so closer still, and you’re pretty positive she’s leaning in too. Which is why you’re so _mad_ at yourself for not being able to suppress the rather unladylike yawn that breaks free at just the wrong time, straight into her face.

Her warmhearted chuckle almost makes up for it though— _almost_ —as she grabs the hands resting on her waist in her own. “You’re tired. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m fine,” and you knew before you said it that there was no point, but you truly don’t want to sleep. Ever. Which is ridiculous.

“You’re not. Your mind and body both are bound to be exhausted after all you’ve been through.” She’s right. _Dang it_.

“There’s not some kind of potion or something that you can just whip up to make me not tired?” You look toward the desk littered in potion-making paraphernalia wistfully, praying that she’ll say yes.

“Unfortunately, no.” _Damn it_. “Nothing long-term affective anyway. You need real sleep.” You want to protest some more, but the second yawn that spills from you signals that there’s no point delaying the inevitable.

“Damn it all to heck.” She gives a bright smile and a swat to your bicep before turning and pulling you out of the greenhouse.

“Come on, we’ll get you set up.” When you make it back into the academy, it’s rather dark and uncharacteristically quiet. “11: 47. I suppose everyone’s gone to bed.” You hadn’t realized you’d spent so long in the greenhouse, but you’re rather glad you did. You don’t reckon you’d make any good acquaintances right now. You follow Cordelia up the stairs and veer into a room right beside her own. “This is Queenie’s, so where you can stay for the next couple of nights. I’m sure she’d be fine with you making use of anything you need. Hold on,” she disappears back into the hall at that, so you take a moment to glance around the room. Queenie’d upgraded, too. The bed lies along the back wall underneath a window, a desk along the wall to the right and a bookshelf opposite that with a large television resting atop it. You see several candles throughout, some voodoo dolls and spices resting on the shelf, and several other miscellaneous items that identify the owner. Plus a photo of Nan and Queenie on the bedside table. _Nan_. “Here’s an extra pillow and blanket for you,” Cordelia places them gingerly atop the bed. “The bathroom is just across the hall, but if you’re uncomfortable in a shared bathroom right now you’re free to use mine at any time as long as you like.” She comes to a stop in front of you, reaching to give your hand a squeeze. “If you need anything at all, come and get me, okay?” Judging by her tone, you can tell she truly means it. It’s almost intimidating. “It doesn’t matter what time it is, you wake me up. Okay?”

You know there’s no use protesting, so you give her a small smile instead, “okay.” She releases the tight grip that you don’t think she’d realized she’d had on your hand. _She must be as scared as you are._

“Okay.” Her hand reaches up to stroke the length of your jaw once more before she moves toward the hallway, leaning against the opened door, hand on the knob and eyes on you. “Goodnight. And I mean it, Misty. Any hour.” You give a slight nod at that, not trusting your voice to say any more. She takes a miniscule step back but keeps her hand resting on the doorknob and eyes resting on you, and you know she’s reluctant to leave you.

“I’m here,” another reminder for the both of you that _you’ll still be here in the morning_.

“You’re here,” her gaze remains locked with yours for a second more before her head nods and she steps out, closing the door behind her. You move toward it hesitantly, placing your hand on the door she just exited. You can’t be sure, but you suspect she’s just done the same. “Okay?” It’s slightly muffled by the barrier, but the small question brings a full smile to your face.

“Okay.” You listen for the steps that follow, leaving you alone for only the second time since your return. _But she was just on the other side of the opened door that time_. You can feel panic begin to build before shaking your head at yourself and moving toward the bed. _No. Stop it._ _You’re a grown ass woman, you’re fine_.

Once situated in bed, you reach for the bedside lamp before shutting it off. Then turning it back on, and then off again. You finally decide on _on_ before rolling over onto your opposite side, closing your eyes, and trying to find peace.

_Baby steps_.


	5. Bits of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot begin to thank you all enough for your kind comments on the last chapter! I appreciate each of them so very much and am all the more motivated because of them!

You’ve been lying here, staring at the wall, for what feels like hours now. The clock on the bedside table reads 1:14 in a horribly bright shade of red. Queenie’s not got any Stevie for you to calm your soul with, and your mind just won’t stop tormenting you with thoughts of your hell—to the horrible, dark loneliness you just can’t seem to shake.

You’d try the TV, but you’ve honestly not got a clue how to use it. You’ve never used any more than your gran’s ancient box, and that seems a lifetime ago. You wonder where your family is now— _do they ever miss you? Probably not._ You’d tried so hard to escape that pain before, and you know that you’ve found a new family— _a better one_ —but still it hurts. What you wouldn’t give to have a mama to talk to right now. _One who would love you—actual, true love. One who wouldn’t turn her head at your tortured screams or watch with barely a grimace as the deacons throw your lifeless, charred body into the swamps. A mama who wouldn’t leave you so alone._

 You know that dwelling on that will kill you—it nearly did for years—so you try to distract yourself from those tortured thoughts with the happy things—the things that make you not so alone. You think of the warm feeling you got when Nan took your hand. When you walked through the academy doors. When you saw Cordelia again—beautiful, powerful, _loving_ Cordelia. When you felt her embrace again. When you finally saw her own, pure brown eyes. When she kissed you. You’d been doubting it even happened at all, but the feeling was all too real. You know it was. You felt the butterflies that your mama used to tell you about when you were a little girl. And sure, you’d kissed some people before, but you’d never felt _so much_ with every part of your being. You didn’t just feel her lips against your own and the warmth that spread through your whole body; you felt it in your heart—in your soul. It wasn’t something you’d ever even thought would or could happen, so you’d certainly never consciously thought of it happening, but _by golly_ _now you can’t stop._

So you think of Cordelia: her wondrously soft blonde hair; her beautiful dark brown eyes; her full, warm lips; the way she bites her lip and how her eyes shine when she’s laughing at something truly funny; her inexplicable ability to make you feel better just by existing; and the way she makes your brain stutter and your heart flutter to life. And finally, you fall asleep.

But within an instant you feel so cold, so alone, horribly but recognizably so, and you hear the chillingly shrill call of the boy, “Mr. Kingery, she did it again!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not again. Please, no, don’t make me!” The panic rises within you before you can comprehend what’s happening, tears springing to your eyes, and you feel the scream burning in your lungs, _begging_ to be let go.

But still you feel the lifelessly cold hand forcing the cold scalpel into the warm belly, and you allow the blood-curdling scream to escape because _you thought you’d escaped_. _You thought it was over_.

But here you are, watching the crimson blood rush from the belly of the frog, unable to look away try as you might as you scramble to make it right. _You can’t kill again. You can’t. It would kill you. You have to save it._ You’d thought you’d never have to revive a life taken at your own hands again; every incision had broken you down more and more and there’s _not enough left to break._ All that remains is the shell of yourself _. You can’t—you didn’t have to._ It must’ve been an addition to your hell. A horrible, cruel addition—allowing you to _feel_ Cordelia only to take her away again and replace her with the cold. _So cold. You can’t lose her again_.

So you focus your efforts on reviving the life and making it right, because that’s what you can do—all that you can do—but again the teacher forces your hand. _You’ve got to stop this; you’ve gotta get out. Back to life. Back to warmth. Back to her._ This is your mantra as you focus on _just making it right this time_ , but on the teacher’s fourth walk toward you, something changes.

Something in the air stops and shifts as you brace yourself for the coming death. His hand doesn’t grab yours. It doesn’t force the scalpel into the belly. You hear a wet gurgle in place of his cutting words as you peal your clenched eyes open, and what you see is neither relieving nor unwelcome, all things considered, but so very horrific. You watch in horror and disgust as Mr. Kingery’s insides spill to the floor and he helplessly makes a grab for them. _Someone’s dissected him._ You aren’t really sure what you’d expected next in your shocked stupor, but it sure wasn’t for his eyes, now a sickening red and yellow glow, to rise to meet your own or for his crimson lips to twist into a sickening smile.

But then you bolt upright, cold sweat flowing down your face, breath escaping your lungs in heavy pants, and you try to ground yourself to your surroundings. The bed beneath you. The glow of the lamp beside you. The unlocked door across the room from you. _It wasn’t real. It was just a dream. You’re fine. You’re back. You’re never going back to hell._ But you can’t shake the memory of how the dream had ended or how very _real_ it felt—you’d never seen that scene before, couldn’t even fantasize of it if you’d tried. “What the hell was that?” You’re not positive you want an answer.

You can’t escape the immense feelings of loneliness and despair, coupled with overwhelming _rot_ and _decay_ that linger from the nightmare. You’ve never before felt something so _dark._ You’ve always been so in-tune with feelings and vibes, nature and spirits, have known the scent of death since entirely too young, but that was something else. You can’t shake the overwhelmingly terrifying feeling, and suddenly the room is a bit too enclosed. The clock glows 3:47 now, and though you don’t want to go back to sleep—too afraid to face your demons again—it’s still far too early to be up and about, and certainly far too early to disturb Cordelia. So you grab a pillow and the blanket Queenie had strewn across the bed and walk, quietly so as not to wake anyone, down to the living area.

It’s a rather uncomfortable looking couch, more for looks than for pleasure which is completely incomprehensible to you, so you set your pillow down beside the couch and lie on the floor instead. You’re too tall to find comfort on a couch anyway, but the faint sounds of crickets and _life_ that you can now hear through the academy walls and windows brings comfort. The stars that you can only see in the dead of night shine through to you from the windows.

You’re lying there for you don’t know how long, thumb and forefinger absentmindedly twirling the frog ring around your finger, unbearably afraid to close your eyes for more than a moment, before you hear a shuffle that startles you out of your desperate musings and causes you to bolt upright in defense.

“Misty?”

“Miss Cordelia? What are you doing up? Did I wake you?” You can barely make out the dark silhouette of her standing several feet away, visible only due to the moon shining through the windows.

“No—I mean yes, but it’s fine. I just sensed that something was wrong. What are you doing? Why are you in the floor?”

“Oh. I, uh…I just couldn’t sleep in there is all. I’m fine.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep? I told you to get me if something happened. What’s the matter?” She walks closer before perching gently on the edge of the sofa by your head. Her hand moves to your hair, stroking a strand out of your eyes before resting comfortingly on the side of your head. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Didn’t wanna wake you, that’s all.” She gives you a look at that that lets you know she’s not for a second buying your shit, so you release a sigh before explaining further. “I just had a nightmare and it was dark and lonely up there. I was feeling a bit claustrophobic. But I’m fine. I promise. You go back to bed and don’t worry about me.” She stares at you for a few seconds more, face a blank slate, before standing, wordless, and disappearing back around the corner she’d come from. _Perhaps she’d taken your reassurances too literally._

But then she’s back, and she’s dropping a pillow of her own down beside yours and plopping down rather uncharacteristically and ungracefully onto the floor next to you. She’s not looked at you at all since returning, which is fine because you’re startled totally speechless that _the_ Supreme is currently lying on the floor, and she continues ignoring your presence as she lays her head back against the pillow and drapes the blanket over herself, kicking her feet to stretch it out. However, when you look back up to her face, she’s finally looking back. “Well?”

So you give a bashful grin that you hadn’t intended to let show and lie back yourself, resting on your back by the older witch. It’s silent for a moment and you’ve been winning this staring contest with the ceiling for quite some moments now. You think maybe she’s drifted to sleep, so you chance a glance over, only to see her head turned, eyes gazing back at you. It’s dark, so you can’t see much more than an outline of her features, but you can see clearly as her glassy eyes search your own. “How is it that you have suffered through so many lifetimes of pain, and yet you’re still so beautiful?”

You give a light hum at that, because honestly you’re not quite sure how to react, unable to hold back your bright smile or the blush that's surely creeping up your neck. “Well, how is it that you only seem to get prettier as time goes?” She hums back. Her slight grin slowly fades into something else, something unreadable, as she continues to gaze at you, but somehow her lingering eyes only make you joyous, and not even the slightest bit uncomfortable as most would.

She turns onto her side fully then, eyes still closely examining your features, and lifts her head from the pillow before closing the already miniscule gap between you almost entirely. You watch as her eyes glance down to your lips for a brief moment, and you can’t stop yours from doing the same. You feel her warm breath meeting your own, eyes locking once more before she leans further and presses her warm lips to your own. If you’d had any remaining doubts before, they’ve all flown out the window as her lips move against your own for the second time. You’re more prepared this time around than you were before in her office, though, and you kiss her back; your own lips enveloping this beautiful, powerful woman’s bottom lip before she pulls back slowly, her lower lip pulled out by the grip your own lips have on it before separating fully. Her kiss finds your forehead softly then before she pulls you to her, hand on the back of your neck, your head finding its place under her chin. Her arms are wrapping you up, her head on your pillow now, and you can’t help the affectionate kiss you place to her collarbone before nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

And finally, you’re at peace. Real, true peace. You don’t know what Cordelia is to you exactly or why she keeps kissing you, but you have no protest and suppose you can figure that out later, because right now all that matters is that you’re _happy_. So you allow your mind to drift, soft grin on your lips pressing into her skin, until you finally fall into a restful sleep, thoughts of hell replaced by _bits of heaven_.


	6. Saying Yes

You wake before she does. The sun’s only barely begun to rise, and streaks of dull yellow and orange pierce the darkness through the window, landing in lines across your torso. The first thing you register in your foggy state is a weight on your right side, and it makes your chest constrict in panic at the intrusion for a moment before you look down to see blonde hair splayed across your chest, and you glance around as your surroundings come back to you one bit at a time.

There’s an arm hugging you, hand resting on your shoulder, but it doesn’t feel the least bit restrictive. Her torso is the weight you were feeling leaning on your own—you’d shifted through the night, unconsciously trading places. Her head rests on your right breast, face pointed up toward you. _Cordelia_.

Her breath wafts across your face with every exhale, morning sour causing your nose to crinkle, but not enough to make you turn away. She looks so peaceful—no trace of the sadness or pain or worry that seems to plague her every moment—only pure peace. And she’s _so beautiful_. Her lashes flutter softly as an effect of whatever it is she’s dreaming of, her lips parted a fraction of an inch, and her hair uncharacteristically disheveled. Your legs had entangled through the night, her right leg thrown over your own and her knee resting dangerously close to the apex between your legs which, all thrown together, makes your liver quiver more than you know it should.

It strikes you for a moment that maybe you shouldn’t be staring at your Supreme so unabashedly, but you also think that she probably wouldn’t much mind and by golly she’s just _so dadgum beautiful_. So you let a smile take over your face instead and reach up with your left arm to push a strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind an ear. You allow your thumb and forefinger to lightly grasp her ear lobe on its way back down, then trace along her jaw line with a crooked, feather-light finger. You see her lips turn up in a barely-there smile and lightly squeeze her hip with the arm currently encircling her. Or you try to at least, though the weight of her has put the appendage to sleep.

“Mm.” The mix between groan and sigh comes with a flutter of her eyelids and a downturn of the lips as her back arches away from the offending ground. “God.” In doing so, she’s gone from resting against your torso to fully lying on top of you in an effort to seek refuge from the hard floor, lazily nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck, her knee unconsciously applying a wee bit more pressure through her stretches. “Why the fuck did you choose the floor of all places?”

You give a chuckle though, because you’re sure that’s the only appropriate response, puffing a breath of air out to rid the few hairs that had fallen onto your face. “My bad.” You let your head fall over to bump against the one breathing into your neck. “G’mornin’.”

She lifts her face just enough to see yours, then, “Good morning, love,” before putting it to rest back on the edge of your shoulder, far enough to see your own face fully but not far enough that your every breath doesn’t mingle with her own, which, granted, isn’t so great before brushing your teeth. But that’s okay.

“I take it you didn’t sleep well then?”

“No, I did. Though my body doesn’t seem to appreciate it much.” She lets out another groan for emphasis, before smiling wide to let you know that she’s mostly just overdramatic. “What time is it?”

Your eyes find the clock on the wall behind her. “6:20.”

“Mm,” her head flops down onto your chest lazily as she shimmies down to allow room for the new position. “We’ve got until at least 8 before anyone else is up.” And you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you’re pretty certain you feel her lips press to the skin just above your right breast where your t-shirt has ridden over, which doesn’t at all help the liver situation. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Oh. Yea. No dreams this time.”

“Mm. Good.”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes find yours once more, your own head downturned in order to see her, which you’re pretty certain gives you a rather unsightly double-chin, but you’re not too concerned. Her eyes are slow blinking, a sign that she’s still tired but won’t allow them to drift shut indefinitely, and her eyes wonder your own face. “You don’t have to-“

“No. Really. Thank you.” And by golly, _you wish she’s just take credit where credit is due for once_. “For everything.” The sun’s moved to shine dully across her face through the window now, and her eyes are just so captivating, and even in her post-sleep state she’s the most gorgeous being there ever was. And she’s kissed you twice now, right? So surely she wouldn’t mind if you leaned your head down that bit further to connect your lips to her own. But still you hesitate midway, so when she moves up to close the distance, you welcome it with fervor. Her hand moves from your shoulder to—what you quickly and happily realize—place on the floor beside you, pulling herself up to your level.

You’re dully aware that this is the first time since waking that your head has rested fully back against its pillow—too busy admiring the beauty above you—pushed back by the light force of full lips and curtained between falls of straight blonde hair. Cordelia hovers above you, body still resting against you, mouth languidly moving against your own. _She’d pecked you before, but this is deeper. Friends don’t do this. Do friends do this?_ With her raised position, her knee has found its place back against your center, though she doesn’t apply pressure for which you are thankful, because you are not about to do something stupid to _your Supreme. In the middle of the living room of a girls’ school no less._

You still don’t know what this is—whether just a show of support, a byproduct of a year apart, or something more, and you may be obtuse and you may have lacked regular human contact for most of your life, but you’re fairly certain friends don’t kiss friends like that. _But there’s no way Cordelia— Supreme, headmistress, powerful, beautiful Cordelia— actually fancies you_. But the teeth currently latching onto your bottom lip and pulling as she draws back tell otherwise, and the lazy smile she gives you makes your heart melt. So you decide that you don’t need an answer right now. _What will be, will be_. She’s the closest relationship you’ve ever had, rivaling even that of your gran and your childhood dog, and you’ll be damned if you ruin that by overanalyzing it like you do everything else. _Just go with it. Let her take the lead._ With that thought, you receive the next chaste kiss she places to your lips before she pulls back.

“We should probably get up before any of the girls see their Supreme lying on the floor. I do have a reputation to uphold, you know. One that you seem bent on tarnishing.”

“Ha ha. Okay, Ms. Supreme Badass.”

She moves to stand (but not before lobbing a fist at your shoulder with a chuckle), grabbing her pillow and blanket along the way. “We can go to your shack today to get some of your things, if you want. I can have Zoe take care of things around here for the day.”

“That would be awesome, thank you.”

When you get to her bedroom, which you hadn't been entirely consciously aware that you’d followed her into, you expect her to head for the bathroom or maybe her closet to prepare for her Supremely duties of which she always seems so put-together, but instead she walks straight to her bed and rather ungracefully flops onto it, face down, causing you to let out a rather raucous laugh before closing the door behind you. “Shut up. Being powerful is tiring.” Her words are muffled by the pillow her face is crushed against, which only makes you chuckle more. But you know she must actually be tired; _she slept on a floor for you for christ’s sake_. You know that you owe her more than she would ever ask for.

_No. Maybe you shouldn’t. She’s your Supreme. But she’s also your friend—person—sort of_. Before your hesitation can take over, you move to kneel beside her on the bed and place the heels of your hands onto her back, digging into and relieving the kinks from a hard night’s sleep and a stressful year—a stressful life. _When was the last time someone appreciated her the way she deserves?_ “Mm. God.” Her back flexes in a way that lets you know she very much welcomes the intrusion, and her face sinks somehow further into the pillow. You’re having trouble getting at all of the tense crevices completely, though, so you move a hand down to lightly grasp the end of her shirt.

“May I?”

“Mhm.”

You allow your hands to push up under her shirt, requiring her to lift up her torso a bit to allow room for the shirt to be pushed up, and continue your massage on bare skin. She nearly purrs as the heal of your hand rolls through a particularly tense muscle, and it makes you pause your ministrations for a moment, eyes clenched shut and mind reeling at the feeling the sound leaves in your fluttering heart. _What the hell is wrong with you?_ You force yourself to put those confused feelings to the side though in order to do something helpful for this woman who continues to save you— _for once just be present for her_. And as your hands continue to work out the kinks in your Supreme’s back, you catch sight, for the first time this morning, of the elegant hand which even in its sleep had kept its two rings. The silver band that for years had been around your own finger, now adorning she who holds the greatest deal of your life, next to the frog that matches your only ring not currently resting on Queenie’s bedside table, makes you unexplainably giddy, and you allow the face-splitting grin to take over as you move your gaze to the turned head of the woman below you.

“Where did you learn to do this so well?” As she says it, her head turns and her eyes crack open just enough to catch a glimpse of you. “What?” Despite your sounds of protest, she rolls over onto her back, your left hand trailing to find rest on her exposed midriff. “What’s with the shit-eating grin?”

“Nothin’. It’s nothin’.”

She doesn’t say anything at that, but her brow quirks in a way that lets you know she’s just not having it.

“I just really missed you is all.”

Her smile is heart-wrenching as she pulls herself into a sitting position and reaches a hand up to tuck a stray strand of wild hair behind your ear. “Oh, Mist. I missed you so very much, my dear.” And you try to suppress it, you really do, because _dammit, Misty, this isn’t the time_. But you really can’t stop it.

“You ‘Mist’ me.”

After a split second of shock registers across her face at that, she throws her head back, mouth open and tongue sticking slightly between pearly teeth, nose and eyes crinkling, before a delighted laugh fills your ears and overflows your heart, your grin rivaling her own. “No.”

“No?”

“God, no.”

But everything about her is saying _yes_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pitiful for such a long wait, I know, but I needed a bit of extreme fluff to segue into the real meat of the story, which is coming very soon! Bear with me; we're getting there!


	7. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! Another relatively short chapter, but it's leading into the real meat of the story and it is hella heavy so here we go.

Your shack is different from before. Not bad different, but different. Better. You can no longer see so much of the sky through the cracks in the walls. There are no spots of water damage from the leaking roof. No creaking floorboards.

“Ya know, when you said you’d kept the place up, I didn’t think you meant a whole damn makeover.”

“Yea. I’m sorry if it’s-“

“No. No, no. It’s nice, thank you.”

And with a cheeky grin that melts your heart down, “of course.”

You can only twirl around in wonder, because _jeezus_. “No, I mean really! You added a whole ass _bathroom_.” For the first time in a long time, your excitement takes over as you bounce toward the tub in the shack's addition.

“Yes, well, I don’t know how you managed with that tin can before,” and then with a sly chuckle, “but I suppose that explains why you were so dirty when you first showed up at the academy.”

You turn to her, ready to give a quick quip in response, but you can’t. You can physically feel how hard you’re cheesin’ as you gaze at this magnificent woman in front of you. So instead, all you can manage is a pitiful “wow.”

But she must not be able to read the admiration in your eyes, because she turns a bit sheepish. “What?”

You turn to twirl slowly once more to take it all in. The curtains covering fixed windows. The space heater. _The fixed fucking Stevie_. And you’re overwhelmed, so when you come to a stop and face her again, you hope beyond hope that she can read that in you. “You didn’t know I would be back.”

Her smile turns sad, a bit of water beginning to pool in her eyes. “I didn’t.” Then, you suppose to mask her emotion, she sniffles and clears her throat, looking around to occupy herself. “But I must admit, my motivations weren’t entirely selfless.”

For the first time, you notice the unfolded blanket draped over the arm of the couch. The soap by the bath. The pillow with a distinct indent and the wrinkled quilt on the bed. You turn back to her, and you know without a doubt that this time, she can read the emotion and question in your gaze.

“I came here. Quite often actually.” She moves to sit on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the blanket to her sides and then fidgeting with her hands. “When things just became too much. When I started to miss you more than I could bare.” She reaches up to wipe the tear that had fallen down her cheek, and you _know_ that you should be the one wiping it away, but you’re frozen. “I know I didn’t know you very long,” she pauses to let out a dark snicker, self-loathing almost, “but dammit, Misty, I’m weak.” Her eyes find yours. “You were the only person to actually give a damn. The only one to actually fight for me back.” Her voice breaks. You can feel it, the heavy emotion in the air. You can feel the weight of her words, how much she means them in her soul. “I needed you.”

And that. Hearing those words. That is what breaks you. That is what causes you to fall to your knees, too weak to stand. That is what causes the tears flowing down her face to fall much too quickly to be wiped away. You can feel yourself falling apart, and you can hear her doing the same. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

There’s nothing you can say that could bring the breath back to your lungs or stop the flow of tears streaming from both of you, blocking your vision. But you can feel that she’s slipped off of the bed to gather you in her arms. But her body is wracking just as hard as your own, so you grip her elbows tight because that’s all you can do as your tears soak her and her tears soak you. Neither of you in the moment mind that you’re once again dealing with things on the floor. And you don’t know how long you sit there, both of you falling apart and trying desperately to hold it together, before she speaks, broken and pitiful.

“Not a moment went by when I wasn’t thinking of you.” Face buried in her neck, you can’t say anything. “Even in my dreams, you were there. I was so afraid I would wake up and you wouldn’t still be there.” You finally find it in yourself to pull your head back and look into her face, red and blotchy and covered in tears and snot, brows stressed and lip trembling, but still so beautiful. “I don’t why you have such an effect on me. I don’t know why I’m so attached to you.” She reaches a hand up to lamely wipe at the waterfall still streaming from your bright, wide eyes and lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “But I need you.” It’s broken. It’s quiet. But it reverberates so loudly through your entire being. “I need you.”

“I’m here.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper, but it’s the most you can manage, and you think it’s enough. “I’m here.”

It takes her a moment, and you begin to wonder if she’d actually heard you, but then she sucks her lip in and gives a barely-there nod, bleary eyes gazing into your own. “Yea. Yea, you’re here. We’re okay.”

Eyes closing in exhaustion, you lean your forehead against hers and sit there for a few moments more, on the floor, still holding tight to one another as your tears begin to slow, before she moves a hand up to caress your ear and moves her head up to place a kiss to your forehead. You’re quickly getting used to that show of affection.

“Do you want to go outside?”

“Hm?”

“Your garden’s still growing. Maybe there are some animals around. I’m not a fan of the alligators, by the way.”

You give a responding chuckle, though the change of pace is nearly enough to give you whiplash. “Yea. Yea, let’s go.”

You stand, pausing to pull her up— _how the fuck did she manage all of that in heels_ —and keep hold of her hand as you walk outside. She was right, it still looks beautiful. “I didn’t do much more than keep the plants going out here, though they didn’t need much after you’d cared for them for so long. I figured I couldn’t improve upon perfection.”

Still gripping your Supreme’s hand, you move to stroll through the garden, taking it all in but being sure not to touch anything, what had happened in the greenhouse still in the back of your mind and the thought causing you to subconsciously move your thumb to twirl the frog ring around your pinky finger. Your bright flowers and trees and herbs are still planted haphazardly around the overgrown yard. Burlap hangings overhead provide strips of shade and you can see the sun shining off the swamp water. You see your gardening sun hat resting on a chair on the porch and wonder briefly if Cordelia had ever worn it as she tended the plants, the mental picture bringing a light grin to your face. You can hear birds and bugs chirping and wind blowing through the trees. You slip your shoes off to feel the earth beneath your feet, the dirt and grass providing a welcomed familiarity and peace. But it’s not the same.

You let go of Cordelia’s hand to walk to the small garden in the centerpiece of the yard. You hesitate for a moment before caressing the yellow petal of a sun flower, reaching out with every bit of your soul and trying to feel anything. Any sign of life. But you can’t. You still can’t. Just as you couldn’t in the greenhouse. “It’s beautiful, Cordelia. Really. Thank you so much. But it’s not the same. Nothing feels the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I still can’t feel the life out here. It’s not- It doesn’t-“ You sigh in exasperation and wish wholeheartedly that you were better at articulating your feelings. “It’s just not the same. I can’t _feel_ it, Cordelia! I need to feel it.” You can feel her coming up behind you and you can feel her hand reaching for you, and it should bring you comfort, but it doesn’t.

“It’s okay, Misty. It’s-“

“Stop saying that!” You can see the shock and hurt register on her face as she flinches back, and it breaks your heart and it pisses you off that someone’s instilled that reaction in her and more so that you’ve triggered it, but not enough to stop your own hurt from finally surfacing. “Stop sayin' that it’s okay—it’s not okay! I’m _broken_ , Cordelia! I am not okay! And neither are you!”

You don’t know at what point you’d fallen to your knees for the second time in so short a time—you’re just _so weak—_ or at what point the tears had once again obscured your vision of Cordelia, but you’re certain she can still somehow make out the words through the sobs and feel the stab of pain tearing though your chest. “I’m not okay, Cordelia. I’m not okay.”

The responding sob that breaks from her own throat only tears deeper—only hurts further—as she stumbles from her stupor and comes to kneel in front of you. And god _dammit_ you can’t keep doing this. Not to yourself; not to her.

“I _wish_ I was okay. I wish I could _be_ okay. I wish we could just say it and make it true! I wish I could see that _you_ were okay, Cordelia, but I can’t! I can’t, because I’m not, and because you’re not.” It all comes out of you so quickly that you can’t even keep up with what you’re saying, but you know that it has to come out so you don’t work to stop it. “We’re not okay, Cordelia. We’re not." You can see through your clouded vision to the raw _pain_ painting her face. The tears that won't stop overtaking her. "We’re not okay.”

A push. A pull-back. Something. Something shifts, but you’re not sure what or how. Somehow you feel lighter, but somehow you know that you’re not even close to finished fighting. You don’t know where you stand with Cordelia. You don’t know where she stands on her own. You can’t read any further than the anguish mirrored on her own face. And at this point, there are only two things that you are sure of:

Cordelia is your comfort. She is your saving grace, and you will be hers if it takes every bit of energy and life you have left in you.

And maybe, despite that, you’re not so okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay? Nay?


	8. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for all mistakes, this chapter was a whole struggle and I couldn't proofread anymore. But I hope you enjoy! Thank you for every feedback you take the time to give!

“What do we do, Misty? What do you need me to do?” Cordelia had gotten down in front of you. She’s kneeling on the ground—something she shouldn’t have to be doing—because of you. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. “How do I help you, Misty? What do I do?” The tears spilling from the both of you are just too much. Her voice breaks and squeaks in desperation, palms to the ground and brows furrowed in anguish. And you just don’t know. “Please, Misty. Tell me what to do.”

She moves closer to you, shoving her head into the front of your shoulder. You want to tell her she’s done all she can do. You want to tell her she’s perfect. You can see in her face and hear in her voice the desperation to make this right—to make you okay—to make _her_ okay—and you so wish you had an answer. But you don’t, and you can’t. “I don’t know.”

And it’s pitiful, really. But you’d bottled all of your pain and your tears up for too long and now you can’t stop the rush to get it all out. For the torment of hell. For the family that never loved you. For the burning gasoline. For the woman in front of you. For all of it. You’d convinced yourself that you were fine only to shatter further. But you don’t know how to make it better. “I don’t know, Cordelia. I don’t know.” And you don’t know if she can make out your mumbled words or how she feels about the tears and snot you’re getting in her hair, but it doesn’t matter. Not right now.

“I want to make you okay.”

“I know. I know.” And you do. You know that she does, and you know that she will. You know that right now, she’s your hope. You may be alive, but she’s the only life you feel. _The only life you need._ “You will, Cordelia. And I, you.” You find the strength to bring a hand to caress the back of her head, tangling in blonde hair. “Promise.”

You don’t know how long you sit there. You don’t know how long the dirt and the bugs disturb and are disturbed. You’ve lost all count of time after having no time. You guess hell does that—makes you realize how very arbitrary time really is, yet at the same time how very precious. But your tears start to dry and your legs start to go numb, and you pull back just enough to look into Cordelia’s face. She looks so sad. You’ve not seen her look this broken since you first showed up; after Hank left. You could make her better then. You could make her happy. But you’re not strong enough to fix it now.

Her eyes are impossibly puffy and red. Face wet by sweat, snot, and tears. Bottom lip red from the force she’d been biting it with to ease the tremble. And you can’t stand it. And you want to take it all away. You lift your hand to make a measly attempt at wiping her cheeks clean, then run your thumb over her trembling bottom lip. Her eyes drift shut at the sensation before fluttering back open to bore into your soul. Neither of you speak, because neither of you can. But she looks so weak, and you imagine you’re only a mirror of her own hurt.

You force yourself to stand, legs like jelly from resting on them for so long, and reach to grab both of Cordelia’s hands in yours, pulling her to your height.

“We’ve gotta stop meetin’ like this.” She giggles lightly, face so close to yours, and you’re glad that such a simple joke could take even a moment of pain away. _This isn’t her battle to fight_.

“What do we do, Misty?”

That question again. So simple, yet not at all. And you think she can read the anguish it causes written on your face.

“Do you want to stay here? In your own home?”

You look around for a moment. The familiar wood of the familiar shack. The familiar scent of swamp mud and sweet flowers. The soft sunlight you always love streaming through the leaves of the trees. “I do think that bein’ here could help heal my soul.”  But it wouldn’t be right; it wouldn’t be enough. _Why wouldn’t it be enough?_ You look back to her, her coffee eyes so open and warm. _Because of her_. “But I can’t leave you. I can’t be without you. Like I said before, it’s not a home without a tribe.”

You can see the sadness almost perpetually in her eyes, but you can also see a level of joy shine through. Because you need her—because she needs you too. “Okay. Then we’ll both stay.”

“What? No, Miss Cordelia, I couldn’t-“

“Misty,” she moves to grab your hand in her own, “I want to. I _need_ to.” And you want to protest more. You almost do. But you can see how much she means it, and you know how much she needs it. It’s not just you who’s hurting. It’s not just you who needs to heal.

“Okay.” Neither of you voice it explicitly. Neither of you know how. But you both know that you’re in this together; you can only heal by her side. You can only be okay if she is too. “But what about the academy?”

“The academy survived just fine without Fiona for years. They’ll be okay without a Supreme for a little while.”

“But they never survived without _you_.” You forget sometimes that no one really appreciates her like she deserves— _how the hell could they not?_ But her reaction to that statement breaks your heart a little. Like even she doesn’t know how important she is. Like she doesn’t know how the world would stop without her.

She takes a moment to look down to your interlocked hands, tears in her eyes but refusing to break any further, swallowing the emotion and nodding lightly to clear her air, before looking back up to you. “Right now, you’re my priority. My only priority. And I cannot be okay until I know that you’re okay. So I’ll do whatever it takes. _We’ll_ do whatever it takes.”

You nod slowly, because she’s right, and you can’t do it without her. “Okay. Whatever it takes.”

She reaches up to put a hand to your cheek, smoothing her thumb over your cheekbone before trailing it down and under your chin. You can tell she wants to say something—anything—but she can’t find the words, so you reach a hand up to grab hers back into your own and speak for her. “It may not feel like it now, but we’ll be okay. We will be. Promise.”

“Yea,” and it’s quiet, and she’s lost her power, but it’s there, “promise.”

You can see plainly how broken she is. She was always fragile, and she never knew her worth, but she’s _broken_ now. Shattered and trampled on. And you can’t stand that. You want to take every bit of that onto yourself, but you know that you’re broken too. You pull her in, and she lets you. Your arms both twine around her back, holding tightly—holding her together. “We’ll be okay, Delia.”

She rests against you for a few moments more, and you have absolutely no qualms against it, before pulling back, sniffling on her way. “I’m going to go call Zoe. Make sure everything’s going well there and tell her where we’ll be. I’ll be right back.” You give her a quick nod and watch her walk to the shack. And it’s ridiculous, and you know that she’s just a wall away, but it scares you—being without her. It reminds you of all the time your subconscious knew you were missing her but hell wouldn’t let you conjure her picture. All the time you tried your damnedest to remember her aura of warmth but weren’t allowed to feel it. And it scares you how much you need her—how much your wellbeing is attached to her. It scares you how much she needs you, because you’re afraid you can’t be enough. Because she deserves the whole damn world, and you have so little of it.

“Alright, things are settled. Zoe’s fully capable of leading the coven for a bit.” You’d not realized you’d zoned out until she’s standing in front of you again, gently demanding your attention. You can see the orange rays of a perfect sunset shining through the sky, framing the figure before you and lighting golden hair a heavenly hue. And you realize that that’s one of the things you’d missed most about this swamp; the beauty of it all. And you want to take it all in.

You move to grab Cordelia’s hand, which she gladly gives you, and pull her around to the back deck, where the view is the most open. You reluctantly drop her hand to sit on the edge of the dock, legs criss-crossed and arms resting over them, and let it all sink in.

The sun’s just sinking below the horizon. The strips of yellow and orange painting the sky are gently turning to strips of pink and purple. The crickets and peepers chirping all around signal the fall of night to come. The water gently ripples to the dance of water mosquitoes and beautifully reflects a mosaic of color. You glance over to see Cordelia, who’d slipped her shoes off and sat beside you, feet dangling over the edge of the dock, and you think that this is it. This is paradise. It’s the calm; it’s the joy; it’s the _warmth_. Not the sun or the critters or the crisp air, but the woman beside you. The brown eyes that seem a magnificent shade brighter when the sun hits them. The golden hair that always lays just right. The smiles that are always all-consuming and the heart that’s always all-encompassing. She’s it. You don’t even know what _it_ is or why the hell you feel it so strongly—if you even should be—but dammit, you don’t even care. To hell with the rules and the norms. When she looks back to you and gives a gentle, content smile, you can’t bring yourself to think past this moment, and you don’t reckon she can either. It’s just _you and her_. And maybe you’re both fucked up and broken right now, but with the pain and the sorrow you see _hope_. And you pray that she can see it too.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Hm?”

“It’s beautiful,” her gaze finds yours before looking out again, “this place. This sunset. Everything.” She looks to you as she says the last part, eyes soft and pain dissipating if only for this one moment.

“Yea. Yea it is.” You reach a hand over to grab hers where it rests beside her and pull it into your lap, fidgeting with her fingers between both of your hands. “I was in a classroom.”

“Hm?”

“My hell. It was in a classroom, like the ones from grade school.” You don’t look up, preferring the sense of security you feel with your head bowed, and she doesn’t say anything, but you know she’s listening. “I never liked school. Didn’t fit in too well—the other kids usually made fun of me for being so different.” You glance up to her then, if only to convey the feelings that come with the words. “It was cold. So cold,” your brows furrow together at the mere thought. “It wasn’t hot like people say it will be, though I think I’d’ve preferred that. And the whole time I knew I was missin’ somethin’, but I didn’t know what it was.” You look to the water, trying desperately to keep it together. “That was the worst part, I think. I had to miss you without the thought of you, because any thought of you would’ve got me home. It would’ve made me strong. It just-“ You cut yourself short, too overcome with emotion to finish, shaking your head in frustration at yourself for being so _weak_.

“It’s okay. Take your time. You don’t have to say it all right now.” She grabs one of the hands currently fiddling with hers and gives it a reassuring squeeze, and that’s enough.

“I want to tell you all of it. I will, in time, I promise.”

“I know, Misty.”

The sun’s gone down fully by now, only the stars and the half moon to keep light, but you don’t mind. You hesitate for a moment before deciding you’ve come too far and said too much to keep hesitating, and you lean your head over to rest against her shoulder, arm entwining with hers and feeling her head fall to meet yours only a second later. “I don’t think I could do this without you. I’m glad we met.”

“Me too. On both accounts.”

“Where’s Madison?”

She remains silent for a moment, moving to briefly place her lips to the top of your head, and you wonder if maybe you have bad timing. “She’s gone too.”

“What do you mean gone? Where’d she go?”

“During the seven wonders, after I entered the test, she got frustrated and said she was leaving, so we didn’t think anything of it when months passed and she didn’t show back up. But she always does. She always comes back.” She pauses for another moment, whether to think or to gain control of her emotions you’re not sure, so you lift your head to look at her and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “But 5 months passed, and we didn’t receive so much as a call from her. Didn’t see her anywhere in the news. Nothing.” She gives a small scoff before continuing, voice like venom, but all poison directed at herself. “I should’ve known. I should’ve protected her. I should’ve looked past myself for one goddamn minute to find her and bring her home.”

“What do you mean?” The tone she’s taking makes you a bit scared for a moment; you and Madison didn’t get along the greatest, but she was still a part of the coven.

“I tried to reach out to her, through phone, through my abilities, through searching. Everything. But I couldn’t find her.” She clears her throat as a stray tear falls down her cheek. “Another month passed, and a gardener-“ You can see the emotions taking over her, so you squeeze her hand tightly between your own to show bring stability. “A gardener found her. He found her, right in our back yard.”

You don’t know what you were expecting, but it sure as fuck wasn’t that. It knocks every bit of air from your lungs. Pained tears escape from Cordelia’s eyes for what feels like this hundredth time this hour. “Madison was a pain in my ass most of the time, and I know she tried to kill you and I never forgave her for that, but she was still mine, you know?”

And you do know. Madison was a bitch most of the time, but she was Cordelia’s tribe, and was becoming yours. “How?”

Another bitter laugh. “Kyle.”

“What?”

“Yep. Kyle killed her. Strangled her, actually, and then buried her. All during the Seven Wonders. She was right there all that time, dying right upstairs, and I never knew it.” You can hear every bit of hate and blame in her voice, but every bit of it is directed inward.

“Oh my God. I never would’ve thought.”

“Me neither. I entertained the thought of having Kyle executed. I wanted to. But I couldn’t. After Myrtle, I knew I had to stop this horrible witch tradition of killing everyone who crosses you.”

“Myrtle?” A dam breaks further, absolutely shatters, and the tears stream like a river down her face, sucking her lip in to keep it from trembling.

“I didn’t want to, I-“ A sob rips from her throat and you move to gather her into your arms, having heard enough. “I wanted to bring her back, but she wouldn’t have let me. And I tried everything I possibly could to get you back but I never- It never-“

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” And holy shit. You knew she was broken too—you knew she’d faced shit too—but _holy shit._ “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You don’t know what exactly it is you’re apologizing for. For Madison. For Myrtle. For not being here when she needed someone. For not being strong enough to make it out of hell. For coming out so very broken. For all of it.

You place a kiss to the top of her head, holding her to your chest to drown her cries in the dead of night, and by god you wish it didn’t have to be this way. You wish with everything in you that you could’ve met her under normal circumstances. That she didn’t have a shit husband. That he didn’t try to kill you. That she had a mother who deserved her. That you had a father who deserved you. That you didn’t die. That everyone she loved didn’t die. And thinking of that, of all of this _shit_ you’ve had to face, only breaks you down further, because _goddamnit_ _it’s not fair._ It’s too much for you. It’s too much for _her. It’s too much_. “I’m sorry.”

But she’s here, and you’re here, and that’s something. And maybe you can’t face it alone. Maybe it would break you down and harden her heart to have to. Maybe it still will. Maybe you can't be okay. But you feel her arms tighten around you and her lips press to your clavicle, and you know you'd give your last life trying.


	9. Silver Springs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked back and realized it has been a whole ass MONTH since I updated; I'm so SORRY, y'all. But I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

You’d led Cordelia back into your shack, both physically and emotionally exhausted. The small analog clock on the wall reads 11:57, having sat on the dock far past sunset for no other reason than an unwillingness to let go of her. And as you look around the small space, you realize just how relieving it is to be back in your own space. The familiar place filled with nothing but warmth and love, if not the occasional bout of loneliness. The place that has always been your escape from a life that haunts you.

You can feel the tug of your hand as Cordelia begins to make her way to the couch along the wall. You tighten your hold on her wrist, though, to stop her in her path.

“You take the bed; I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Misty, I-”

“Nope. You slept on the _floor_ for me last night, Cordelia. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“But-”

“Just take the damn bed.” She stares at you for a moment, face stern in defiance. “I’m not fighting with you over this.”

After a moment more, she releases a sigh, nodding slightly in acceptance, before making her way to the bed. It strikes you for a quick moment that this is the first time your usual domineering energy has made itself known—snuffing out the lingering hurt of a cowering soul if only for a moment—in quite a while. Since you first arrived at the academy to bring Madison back? Since your second death? Since you gave Madison a good what for? You don’t even know. You’ve always been kind and gentle—incredibly so, almost to a fault. Life or death couldn’t take that spirit away from you. But you’ve also always known what you want. You’d just lost your will to fight for it.

“Come here.”

Her softly spoken words break you of your reverie, and you walk to her, standing before where she sits on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t speak any further, so you rest a hand on her shoulder and pull her forward as your hand makes its way to the back of her neck. The tip of her forehead comes to rest against the plain of your stomach, head bowed and hair curtaining the anguish still painting her features. She holds tight to your hand—so very tightly—the other moving to caress the back of your knee as you tangle your other into her blonde hair, both a show of support and a handle on reality.

You hear her mumble something lightly and curse yourself for not being able to make it out. “Hm?”

She lifts her head only enough to place her lips to the shirt covering your stomach, eyes closed in rest. “It’s nothing. I just still can’t believe you’re back.”

You smooth your hand over her hair, unable to put to words what you’re thinking. “I keep thinking this can’t be real. That I’m going to wake up and you’re going to be gone again. That someone’s got to be fucking with me, because there’s no way I could get this lucky.”

“Hey.” You move your hand to her chin, lifting it so she’s looking at you and squeezing her other hand tightly enough that she can really _feel_ it. “I’m here. I’m _really_ here, and I’m not going anywhere; not this time.” After a moment of thought, she nods in acceptance, lip beginning to quirk up. “And also you’re just really damn lucky to have me.”

Laughing lightly and tossing her head back, she places her hand on your stomach to give you a firm push and breathes out a quick and lighthearted “shut up.” But the smile remains.

You make your way to the couch and lie down—facing Cordelia, so as to still see her—and kick the blanket hanging over the arm over yourself to get comfortable.

“G’night, Cordelia.”

“Goodnight, Misty.”

She reaches out to turn the lamp on the bedside table off and becomes nothing more than a lump in the dark, but still a comfort. And because of this, knowing that she’s just a few feet away and smiling at the faint scent of _her_ on the blanket you’re lying under, you’re able to fall asleep.

But then, like clockwork, you’re back in the classroom. Scalpel to belly. Teacher forcing you to take life. The mocking children. The cold, heavy air. Every part of you screams that it’s just a dream—to _just wake up_ —but it feels so _real_. You can feel the cold, calloused hand pressing the sharp metal into your hand. You can feel the hard stool beneath you. You can smell the stale stench of death. You can feel the pang to your heart as you watch the frog belly burst.

And just like last time, it all stops. You hear the squelch of a splitting stomach and watch as the guts hit the floor, some stray remains splashing up onto you. But unlike last time, the teacher falls. He stops squirming. The kids stop screeching.

And you stop hearing. You stop feeling. All except for the dark figure standing behind where the teacher lies. Totally dark—a black hole—with only the figure of what could only be a demon taking shape. And it _feels_ so dark. You’ve never felt so much _evil_ before—so much hurt, and pain, and death. It begins to suffocate you, the heaviness of it all, your heart and soul crushing under the weight of its depths.

A wide smile—so very wide, entirely too wide—takes shape on the head of the inky figure. And like lightning, its eyes snap open, red and yellow pools. And when you look into them, you can see through them. You can _see_ death itself. Flames. Screams. Gnashing of teeth. _Pure evil_. And it paralyzes you, the very essence of it.

But just as the figure reaches out toward you, you bolt upright, sweat pooling and unconscious tears flowing as you fight to catch your breath.

_What the fuck_. You don’t know what the hell is happening. You don’t know why it feels so _real_. Why it feels _so evil_. What the hell the thing is or why you’re seeing it. Why it won’t release you from its grip. _You don’t know_.

You look over to Cordelia to see if you’d disturbed her, but the lump still lies still. Part of you is thankful, but a more selfish part wishes you’d woken her, because you _need_ her. You _need_ her warmth. The dream had felt so real. It had _been_ so real. So dark. It had left you breathless and cold, confused and scared, and you don’t know how to deal with it on your own.

You grab the green blanket that had gotten kicked off of you and make your way to the bed, sitting just on the edge of it so as not to disturb the sleeping Supreme. You take a moment to just observe her—her beauty and her peace. The usually pristine hair now unkempt and unruly. The lips parted to reveal pearly teeth. The very tiny snore that escapes with each rise and fall of her chest. The silver band adorning her finger. And without you noticing, her hand reaches out to rest atop yours, and eyes still closed she grunts out a breathy “you okay?”

You don’t answer, unsure how to voice your pain but unwilling to lie about your mental state any longer, and she sluggishly scoots toward the other edge of the bed, a silent invitation. But as you move to lie on top of the covers as a show of respecting her boundaries, she weakly pushes you away before pulling down the quilt she’s lying under. A gentle smile overtakes your face as you silently accept her offer.

But even still, the gate placed on your mind keeps you from getting too comfortable. It tells you that she’s too good to you. It tells you that you’re not good enough. It torments the better knowledge and sense that knows its wrong but can’t escape its grip. It tells you that you need to be alone though you don’t want to. And you hate yourself for it. You hate how it affects you. You hate how you can’t overcome it.

“I can hear you thinking.” You glance over to see her lying on her side, observing you intently. “I didn’t mean to. You were just so loud.”

“It’s okay. I’m just…” But you don’t even know how to finish that thought. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to. Come here.”

You scoot closer as she opens her arms and flings one around your waist, head moving to rest at the crook of your neck. You can feel her warm, wet breath on you with each exhale she makes. You can feel the hand that gives a reassuring squeeze to your hip. You can feel every worry and every pain releasing its vice like grip on you, if only for now. Because maybe you can’t fight them alone, but she gives you the strength to. She gives you the courage to overcome the battles.

She is every comfort you ever needed and every song to make your soul soar. And it’s weird, how very attached to her you are. It’s weird how she somehow makes you whole even when you’re in shambles. It’s weird how you can’t feel yourself if she’s not there. It’s weird, and it’s probably inappropriate, and it's entirely too soon, and you don’t know what the fuck to do about it. You don’t know what the fuck _it_ even _is_. But you know that you need her.

And, lying wrapped up in the very source of your happiness, you come to a startling realization: you’re in love with her. And you wonder if she hears that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have caught it already, but this chapter is loaded with symbolism and thought inspired by Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac (ya know, sans the breakup inspo) because it's so pivotal to Misty's process of wellbeing, both concerning the swamp and Cordelia (but mostly Cordelia).
> 
> "You could be my Silver Springs..."


	10. Yours

It had been a while since you’d been awoken by the songs of birds and strips of light falling across your face through thin curtains. The familiarity of it makes your heart shine, all the wonders of being within nature filling your spirit, determined to make this a good day. _You need that._ You move to roll onto your back, but a firm presence behind you stops the movement.

It takes you no time at all to register the arm wrapped loosely around your waist and the breath tickling the back of your neck, and you didn’t know it was possible, but your heart expands tenfold. _This is paradise_. With little effort, you lift yourself up enough to flop over onto your other side, nothing graceful at all in the heavy movement, now facing the groggy Supreme.

She’s glaring at you, and if she didn’t have a handle on her power you know you’d have just died again. So, with little hesitation, you lean in to place a light kiss to her nose, holding back a giggle as she wrinkles up her face and her stern expression breaks. “How are you so giddy so early in the morning?”

You let your happy smile bleed into your entire energy. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

Finally, a small, content smile paints her face. “Good morning, love.”

“You’re not actually sunshine.”

“Oh I’m not?” The humored grin painting her features tells you that she’s happy to play along.

“Nah. You’re more like a 75-degree day with a light rain. One that makes a rainbow. Refreshing.”

She stares at you for a moment, refusing to break.

“Maybe a cloud.”

Another stare.

“But like, a good cloud. One of the pink ones right before dark.”

After another moment more, a laugh finally breaks free from her, inadvertent snort giving away her amusement. “Okay, I’ll take it.”

“The sun burns. Everyone loves a pink cloud.”

“Got it.” The gentle smile directed at you. The light in her eyes. The way she doesn’t care that her hair is a bit of a wreck. It’s all so much, but in the best way possible.

You reach a hand up to grab hers between you and bring the digits up to place a kiss to her knuckles. You wonder for a brief moment if maybe you shouldn’t have kissed her twice already, but she doesn’t seem to mind. _She welcomes it_.

“I’m gonna go see the gators. I bet there’s some new babies I’ve not met yet. You wanna come?”

“Absolutely not.”

Though it’s what you’d expected, you act offended as you get up and walk to the wardrobe in an attempt to persuade her to join you. “What? Why not?”

“They’re _gators_ , Misty. _Alligators_.”

“You know how there are some real scary people, but you’re not scared of them because they tell you that they’d kill someone for you? That’s the gators. They’ll love you.”

“How could you possibly know that? What if they hate me and want to eat me?”

“Because I-“ You stop in your tracks, unable to say something so ordinarily mundane. _Because I love you_. “I just know. Have I ever steered wrong before?”

She gives nothing more than a blank stare in response.

“Shut your mouth,” you say it with a smile to show that you’re only kidding, “I’m the only one that ever dies because of me.”

She gets up, walking the distance to you. “Maybe that’s what I’m worried about.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to come with me to make sure I stay in one piece.”

You remain in a staring match for a good while—a challenge—before the older blonde releases a defeated groan. “Fine.”

You give a victorious grin before turning back to the opened wardrobe to run your hand through your collection of dresses and shawls. “What are you so scared of gators for, anyhow? You’re literally the most powerful witch on earth.”

“But they’re _gators_.”

“Right,” you allow yourself to release a chuckle in her expense, “I got that.”

You rifle around in your limited collection of clothing for a moment before pulling out one of your favorite white dresses—long flowing sleeves, but cut off at the thigh to fight the heat of day—and turn back to Cordelia. “Do you need to borrow clothes or something? I never even thought about that, you didn’t bring anything.”

“I have some stuff here.” You didn’t entirely mean to react, but you suppose she reads a disbelieving and confused expression on your face. “I really meant it when I said I spent a good bit of time here. At first, I would just bring with me what I needed, but over time I started leaving a few things.”

Though you know it’s a rather sad admission, you can’t help but smile at the sentiment. “It was my safe place, and then it was yours.”

Her darkened expression lightens up once more at that. “I suppose so… our sanctuary.”

After meeting her gaze for a moment more and humming in content agreement, you turn to get dressed and ready, allowing her to do the same. The thought that the place that you love and that protected you can now be shared with the woman who’s done the very same, makes this small shack something that it could never truly be before: a _home_. And that thought alone fills your heart with more joy than you’ve felt- maybe ever.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

You walk to the door, holding it open and giving a satisfied grin to Cordelia as she walks by. When you reach the far edge of your clearing, you start on an overgrown path toward a particular area of the swamp.

“It’s just a few minutes this way. That’s where they like to hang out.”

“Right, right. Fantastic.”

Barely stopping, you shoot a grin over your shoulder and reach back to grab her hand, both to drag her along and to provide comfort. As you draw closer, you gain a sorely-missed skip to your step, hardly able to contain your excitement, kicking and swatting sticks and brush out of the path on your way. “I’m glad you had jeans around. This would be tough in a power suit or those fancy outfits you usually wear.” You hold back a large briar stem so she can pass. “And also I just really love the jeans.”

“Yea, well, enjoy it while it lasts. I don’t wear them often.”

“Will do.” She looks back from where she’d passed and releases a light laugh at the wink you give her, which absolutely makes your whole heart flutter. “Anyway, this is it.” You see out of the corner of your eye as she startles in place, seeming to have forgotten where exactly you were going, and slowly moves to place her arm in yours. You stand still for a moment, taking in the bog, and watch as the shape of a gator crawls out of the tall grass, making her way toward you.

“Hey there, pretty lady.” You slowly and gently take a few steps forward, leaving Cordelia behind, and kneel before the gator, reaching your hand out in silent reverence. After just a moment, the gator crawls forward a bit more, slowly placing the flat of her snout against the palm of your hand. A small part of you cries when you realize that you can’t _feel_ her energy, but another part of your hope is reignited when you see that _she can feel yours_.

Lost in this inner battle, you almost miss the babies that have made their way behind their mother. You look to the older gator, being sure to receive a mama’s permission before reaching for one of the hatchlings. Sensing no danger, you place a hand to the ground, palm up, and wait for one of the babies to crawl to you. Hatchling now comfortably snug in your palm, you lift it for a closer appreciation, free hand moving to pet along his tiny back and go with whatever his tiny head nudges it to do.

“Look at the little guy, Cordelia. Aren’t they amazin’?” But when you look back to her, you find that she’s not even looking at the gators surrounding you both. _She’s looking at you_.

“Magnificent.”

You give her a glowing, genuine smile before turning back to set the hatchling down. You give the mother one last appreciative nudge and whisper a “take care, mama,” before standing to allow her to retreat into the water.

“See? Not so bad.”

“Not at all. You were right.”

After you can no longer see the gator family, you turn back to your companion and grab her hand once more.

“I want to show you somethin’ else.”

Pulling the entirely willing blonde along, you make your way to a clearing a few minutes down the swamp. When your get there, stepping through the trees to the open space, you stop to marvel in the beauty of it all. Clear blue sky visible through the break in the trees. Flowers covering every edge of the small meadow. Dirt path leading to the water.

“Wow. This is beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? I found it a few years back.” You squeeze her hand lightly before letting go to walk further into the clearing. “I think it used to be a campsite, but no one’s been here since I’ve been around.”

You make your way to the water’s edge, removing your brown booties to keep them dry.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m jumping in.” You step into the water, allowing the relative warmth of it to spread to your soul—a welcomed renewal.

“You’re…what?”

“I’m jumping in.”

“No, I heard you the first time, but…what?”

You wade into the water until it reaches your calves, shooting a reassuring smile over your shoulder to the skeptical woman on shore. “Come on. Swamp water’s always warm.”

“But, Misty, it’s a _swamp_.”

“Okay, I know it’s technically a swamp, but underneath the surface it’s the clearest water you’ll ever see.” You turn back around to face her, running your hand over the surface to clear it of its green cover, revealing the clear water beneath. “This is just the water that leads into the swamp. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh no? That hurts me.” You place a hand to your chest in faux pain.

“Misty, it’s a damn _swamp_.”

You give an indignant stare as if to say _I literally just explained this to you_ , and watch satisfied as the sigh she releases rattles her chest.

“ _If_ I do this,” she stops at the edge of the shore, raising a finger in your direction, “then you have to do something for me.”

“Oh yea? Like what?”

“I don’t know, I hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

An expectant, satisfied smile. “Well then, what are you waiting for?”

Finally caving into your ever-present bubbly aura, she makes her way toward where you’d abandoned your shoes to remove her own. “And what am I to do with my clothes exactly?”

You glance down at your own dress at that, hem being dampened by the miniscule waves from your swaying thighs. “Hm. That’s a good point.” You glance around, almost as though the water surrounding you will hold the answer. “Well, you’re wearing underwear, right?”

“What?”

“It’s the same as a swimsuit, just with a different name.” And with that, you reach for the hem of the dress you’re wearing and pull it up over your head, pretending not to catch Cordelia’s responding lingering gaze. _A welcomed gaze_. A part of you is hesitant and wonders if maybe you shouldn’t have been so bold, but another knows that there have never truly been boundaries between the two of you. An unspoken bond rids you of every doubt. _You’ll save the insecurities for tomorrow_.

That thought in mind, you toss the now-balled-up dress to Cordelia, who gracefully catches it and folds it across a large rock to the side of her. You turn and wade further into the water to give her the chance to do the same, and when you turn back, water now reaching your chest, you see her hesitantly breaking through the green mix on the surface.

That not what catches your attention, though, not really. You know that you wouldn’t have to say a word for her to follow you into the depths of hell if she could, so a bit of water is nothing. What catches your attention is how very _beautiful_ she is. Now clad in nothing more than her black lingerie, you’d swear there was something other-worldly about her beauty. Every curve. Every straight edge. Every freckle and smooth plain. Every imperfection so perfect to you. _Indescribable._

When you find her eyes again, you find that she’s smirking at you, all trace of hesitation gone and only happiness remaining. She doesn’t say anything, for which you are grateful, before making her way closer.

“I’m afraid to look down.”

You laugh lightly at her expense before making your way in, stopping at her side. “Look.” You swipe a hand over the surface, clearing it of the pollen and green leaves so she can see through to the water beneath.

“Holy shit, you weren’t lying. That’s so blue.”

“Right? A hidden treasure.”

You begin to back your way into the deep, kicking off the rock at the edge of the drop-off to float on your back, arms stretched wide. The blue sky above has barely a cloud marring its visage. A family of sparrows flap their way between trees. Your ears rest below the surface, so you can hear nothing more than calming silence.

It’s welcomed, the silence. You’ve done nothing more than be held down by too many deafening thoughts, and the silence somehow makes everything clearer. Every intent, every hope, every hurt, and every need more visible in the silence. _It’s peace_.

Until you feel something unknown touch the back of your leg, flopping around clumsily to get away from the intruder. You glance around quickly before catching the sight of the blonde head breaking through the surface and laughing hysterically, quickly joining in yourself.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything, Miss Day.” The grin painting her face becomes blurred as you bring your hand back to splash her in retaliation. Laughing, you swim your way over to her and plant your feet back onto the river floor.

And God help you, you don’t know why, but you reach a hand out to rest on her waist under the surface. You quickly realize though that that waist is, at the moment, incredibly bare and go to draw back with an apologetic look— _because oh fuck_ —but before you can get very far, Cordelia draws her own arm around your back to pull you back in. Bare skin touching hers for the first time, you’re happy. _Genuinely_ happy.

“Thank you for staying with me today.”

“Always.” One of her hands moves up to push a wet curl behind your ear, eyes roaming your features.

“I couldn’t do it without you.”

“Ditto.” Her hand finds its place on your cheek as her eyes pierce into your own. “I was a wreck before you, and a wreck without you.”

A soft smile raises the corners of your lips at her words. “Ditto.” You move your hands to the small of her back, stopping the water from drifting you apart. Keeping with the soft tones, you whisper “I think there’s a cave under the water over there. We should definitely find a spell to hold our breath and check it out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m sure it’s safe.”

“Misty, darling, the fact that you were right about this thing and about the alligators does not mean that you are always right.”

“You’re right, I actually don’t know what the hell’s down there.”

Smiling to show her insincerity, she whispers a soft “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“You’re right.”

You move to bury your head into the crook of her neck, feeling as she leans her head against your own.

“I know today was just a short break, and I’ve still gotta deal with all of this shit in my head, but I’m glad we could forget it. If only for now.”

“Me too, love. Me too.”

“I reckon this must be what heaven’s like.” You tighten your arms around her in an attempt to convey even an ounce of what you’re feeling. “A repeat of this moment, over and over and over. I wouldn’t much mind being stuck in that memory.”

Her hand caressing your hair briefly stops in its path. “Then I can only hope that that’s where we both end up.”

Unable to say anymore for fear of falling apart, equally afraid that you will let loose every truth that your heart longs to scream, you pull back, stopping briefly as Cordelia presses a soft kiss to your forehead— _and damnit you love that so much_ —before trailing your hand down her arm to grasp hers and heading back to shore.

\--------

A bit later, Cordelia sits in the grass by a makeshift firepit in the middle of the clearing as you gather wood from the forest nearby. She has her legs stretched out in front of her, hands at her sides, and even given the entirely out-of-character situation still somehow manages to appear elegant as always. You can still see and hear the soft sounds of the water nearby, clothes still abandoned on the rock as you wait for the evening sun to dry you.

As you drop a few pieces of wood into a tepee formation, placing a few dry leaves and some kindling underneath to get it started, you break the easy silence. “Ya know, I know you’re purposefully letting me take charge, and I love that, I really do,” you glance up to her with an exaggeratedly sincere expression, “but I wouldn’t have minded some help with the wood.”

“I didn’t want to dampen your process.”

“Oh okay, thank you then.”

“Of course.” You shake your head with a light chuckle, unable to be the least bit frustrated, before moving to stand just before her.

“Can I at least sit beside you, Your Highness?”

“I’ll allow it.”

You give a light kick to her ankle before plopping down beside her, feet placed to the group before you and arms resting over your knees. You stare at the wood, _willing_ it to take flame, but no matter how hard you focus it _just won’t light_. Once upon a time, you could’ve lit a fire it with no trouble at all. You know that Cordelia could burn the whole forest with barely the twitch of an eye, but you’re determined to do this yourself, and you know that she understands because she’s not so much as offered her assistance. You can feel your frustration at your own dolessness beginning to cloud every bit of your concentration, because _why won’t it work_.

“Misty.” Cordelia turns toward you, legs grazing your own, and places each of her hands on either of your cheeks, directing your eyes to her own piercing brown orbs. “You can do this.” You begin to shake your head, but she keeps going, nodding to show her support. “You can.” One of her hands, the one housing your silver band and the ring to match the one on your own finger, moves to caress the spot directly over your heart. “I can still feel every bit of power you ever had coursing through your very being. You just need to let it out.”

You gaze into her eyes for a moment longer, allowing her confidence in you to seep into yourself, before turning back to the pit. You focus every energy you have. Allow every good thought and feeling to take forefront in your mind. Your eyes drift shut as you will yourself to take hold of your capabilities. You think of the swamp. Of the birds and the trees. Of the plants at the greenhouse. Of the rising sun. Of the pink clouds of a setting sun. Of _Cordelia_.

“Misty.”

It’s soft, but her whisper plus the weight her hand on your thigh cause you to open your eyes. _Flames_.

“I did it.” Disbelief. “I did it?”

 “It wasn’t me.”

“I did it! I did it, Cordelia! Oh my god, I did it!”

You look to see her beaming at you, expression mirroring your own and _so much pride_ in her gaze. “You did it.”

“I can’t believe that I actually did it.” You look back to the flames—that you created—to take in the weight of the act. “I didn’t lose my powers.”

“Of course not. You’re one of the most powerful witches I’ve ever met, Misty. Truly. It was always in there; it was just suppressed.” You turn your head to lock eyes with her once more, intense gaze allowing you to see, and in turn allowing _her_ to see, more than could ever be said. “You don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to hold back anymore. I’ll take care of you.”

“I know. You take good care of all the witches, Cordelia.”

“No. Not like that.” She gently holds your hand in hers, bringing it to her lips to place a soft kiss to the knuckles. “I have never in my life cared for someone as much as I care for you.”

Your heart stops at the emotion behind her admission. It melts and wonders _how the fuck you could ever be so lucky._ Every bit of bad fortune suddenly worth it just to gain this moment.

“Misty?”

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Always.”

You need no more convincing to lean in and meet her in the middle, lips coming together in a gentle embrace. And you know that it’s not, but it _feels_ like the first. A realization. A comprehended meaning. A _start_. You feel the tip of her tongue swipe over your bottom lip, and you enthusiastically grant access to a deepened kiss, tongue meeting hers for the first time.

Locked in a gentle, passionate battle, you move a hand to her upper back to guide her until her back hits the ground, moving to hover over her. Her hand holds the back of your neck in a gentle caress, the other moving to the small of your back to pull you ever closer. She tastes of spearmint and something entirely, uniquely _her_. Her touches soft and lips supple as they continue their dance.

Releasing her mouth in a wet pop, you trail your lips over her skin to place a tender kiss to her jawline, moving down to trail affectionate, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, attempting to pour every bit of love into your affections without ever uttering the words. Her hand makes its way to tangle into your hair as your teeth gently graze over her collarbone, running your tongue over the smooth skin before being pulled back up to the awaiting Supreme’s level. She lifts her head to once again envelope your lips between her own, fingers grasping at your bare back.

Your kisses are deep. Promising. Full of more emotion that you ever knew an act could hold. You pull back slowly, forehead resting on hers and heavy breath mingling as you take in every whisper of her eyes. She reaches one hand up to brush a curtain of hair behind your ear, then purses her lips once more to place a single peck to your awaiting lips.

“You’re so perfect.”

“What are we?”

“Hm?”

You roll to the side, pulling Cordelia into your embrace. “What are we?”

She places a soft kiss to the hair over your ear. “What do you want to be?”

“I don’t know.” You nuzzle your head into hers, eyes closed in contentment. “Yours.”

“Then be mine.”

You open your eyes to meet her gaze. So many things left unsaid, yet so many promises made for tomorrow. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! I'm not positive yet where this is going to end, whether I'll extend it into a full story with a plot or wrap it up soon. Let me know what you think, if you would like to see it continue into that or no, all feedback is so appreciated!


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